


Sea and Smoke

by AkitsuneLune



Series: Warriors Kingdoms [2]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: A little canon divergent, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Beta Read, Canon Rewrite, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Everyone's big gay, F/M, Graystripe POV, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Rewrite of Fire and Ice, Sandpaw is an alpha male, Swords, The Prophecy Begins Rewrite, Things Go Wrong, redtail the father-in-law
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 131,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24428116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkitsuneLune/pseuds/AkitsuneLune
Summary: Braukkiniaum's reign of tyranny over Shodawa has ended and Fiyr is a full knight, but the threat of Tigre Cawle still looms over Thundria. Fiyr and Graie will have to work together despite the forces driving them apart if they want to save their kingdom and people they love. Fantasy AU of Fire and Ice. Rated T for colourful vocabulary. Beta'ed by aerofice!
Relationships: Barley/Ravenpaw (Warriors), Cinderpelt & Yellowfang (Warriors), Firestar & Graystripe (Warriors), Firestar/Sandstorm (Warriors), Graystripe/Silverstream (Warriors)
Series: Warriors Kingdoms [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617727
Comments: 24
Kudos: 45





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello new and loyal readers of my AU!
> 
> This is book 2 of the Prophecy Begins; Sea and Smoke, the AU rewrite of Fire and Ice. The POVs will alternate between Fiyr and Graie!
> 
> If you’re already thinking ‘who the heck are those people’, I’d suggest you go read Into the Fire first! It’s a grand old time and it’ll get you caught up on everything you need to know about the world and the characters.
> 
> Other than that, one enormous thank you goes to Aeraki, my beta-reader, always available for me to scream incoherently about minor changes to things far down the line and also edit down my propensity for bizarre dialogue tags! Let’s get right into the allegiances and prologue of Sea and Smoke!

** ALLEGIANCES **

****

** Kingdom of Thundria **

Queen Bluelianna Star—Tall woman with long, gray-blue hair and blue eyes. (Bluestar)

Squire: Samn

Captain of the guard: Tigre Cawle—Enormous man with short-cropped brown hair, amber eyes, and broad shoulders.

Court Healer: Yllowei Fennen—old woman with frizzy gray hair and a flat face, formerly of the kingdom of Shodawa

Knights-

Whit Strommer—Tall, white-haired man with strange hazel eyes. (Whitestorm)

Darriek Styrp—Slick man with gray and black streaked hair and hazel eyes. (Darkstripe)

Squire: Duss

Liang Teyl—Thin, young man with long blonde hair with streaks of black and blue eyes. (Longtail)

Rynnin Wynnd—Short, wiry man with sandy brown hair and blue eyes. (Runningwind)

Willowamina Peilte—Graceful, ash-blonde haired woman with long limbs. (Willowpelt)

Mauzian Fyrra—Wiry, spry woman with short, light brown hair. (Mousefur)

Graie Sterrip—Short, chubby man with fluffy gray hair and yellowish-hazel eyes. (Graystripe)

Fiyr Harte—Tall, skinny ginger-haired man with bright green eyes. (Fireheart)

Ladies of the court: (Pregnant or raising children)

Frostialla Fuor—Tall, beautiful, long white-haired woman with bright blue eyes. (Frostfur)

(Children: Cindra, Brakken)

Brindellia Faise—Pretty, chubby woman with creamy brown-blonde hair and green eyes. (Brindleface)

(Children: Unnamed)

Goldanna Flourer—Gorgeous, golden-blonde haired woman with light blue eyes. (Goldenflower)

Speikell Tiall—Long, oddly specked long hair that she keeps in a long braid, stern hazel eyes.

Squires: (Training to be knights)

Duss—Short boy with dark brown hair and amber-brown eyes. (Dustpaw)

Samn—Lanky, strawberry blonde-haired boy with greenish-gray eyes. (Sandpaw)

Elders-

Heff Tyle—Tall, broad-shouldered man with dark brown hair and an arm missing. (Halftail)

Samal Eyre—Wizened old man with gray hair. (Smallear)

Wonn Eie—Short, wise woman with graying hair and an eye-patch. (One-eye)

Dapplianne Tayel—Once-beautiful tall woman with long, shiny dark brown hair with golden-blonde highlights. (Dappletail)

** Kingdom of Wynnd **

****

King Tahliorius Star—Tall man with long, black and white hair. (Tallstar)

Captain of the Guard: Daede Futt—Wiry, tall man with black hair and a twisted foot. (Deadfoot)

Court Healer: Barrik Feas—Short dark-haired man. (Barkface)

Knights-

Meude Kelaw—Broad-shouldered, dark-haired man. (Mudclaw)

Squire—Vebbe

Tuoren Ayer—Tall, thin man with streaked brown hair. (Tornear)

Squire—Roanin

Owen Newskar—Young man with sandy brown hair. (Onewhisker)

Squire—Whytt

Ladies of the court: (Pregnant or raising children)

Ashra Fote—Tall, muscular gray-haired woman. (Ashfoot)

Marrani Flor—Short woman with brown, white, and red hair. (Morningflower)

(Child: Georse)

** Kingdom of Rivier **

****

King Crukkedaro Star—Tall, broad-shouldered man with short brown hair. (Crookedstar)

Captain of the Guard: Leaparra Fore—Lean woman with curly golden hair and sharp amber-brown eyes. (Leopardfur)

Court Healer: Mede Frer—Short man with long brown hair. (Mudfur)

Knights-

Bellack Clah—Tall man with long black hair. (Blackclaw)

Squire—Heffeigh

Stowen Feur—Broad-shouldered man with close-cropped gray hair and scars. (Stonefur)

Squire—Sheyd

Lowd Baley—Dark brown-haired man. (Loudbelly)

Squire—Zilfer

Silaverre Strime—Lean, beautiful silver-haired woman. (Silverstream)

Wheit Calew—Short man with dark hair and a white streak. (Whiteclaw)

** Kingdom of Shodawa **

King Naitienne Star—Thin, black-haired man with asthma. (Nightstar)

Captain of the Guard: Cinnier Faer—Thin, elderly gray-haired man. (Cinderfur)

Court Healer: Raninn Naos—grizzled, slight man with patchy gray and white hair and cloudy brown eyes. (Runningnose)

Knights-

Stoumpei Toile—Short, gray-haired man without a hand (Stumpytail)

Squire—Wiyt

Bellue Faet—Skinny, gray-haired young man. (Bluefoot)

Squire—Oke

Laitlte Cleud—Tiny man with dark brown hair. (Littlecloud)

Ladies of the court: (Pregnant or raising children)

Dawhnnea Clouhd—Small, brown-gold-haired woman. (Dawncloud)

Daerkki Follar—Black-haired woman. (Darkflower)

Tahalli Popaya—Tall woman with light brown hair. (Tallpoppy)

Elders-

Aish Faor—Thin, haggard old man with graying hair. (Ashfur)

** Rogues, Outlanders, and God-toys **

Smaedge—fat, friendly black and white haired god-toy (Smudge)

Barrleigh—tall, muscular boy with black and white streaked hair and blue eyes. (Barley)

Ravne—lanky boy with long black hair and one white stripe and big blue eyes. (Ravenpaw)

Braukkiniaum Star—Broad-shouldered, battle-scarred man with close-shave brown hair. (Brokenstar)

Clehw Fiace—Short, brown-haired man (Clawface)

Blayke Fouhte—Short, broad-shouldered man that always wears black boots and gloves to hide hideous burn scars from when he was a child. (Blackfoot)

Boldair—Tall, thin, dark gray-haired man (Boulder)

Prinesca—Young woman with silky brown hair and big brown eyes (Princess)

Prologue.

They watch from the bushes as the giant humanoid silhouettes dance around a crackling bonfire.

The ragged group of survivors hold bags and children, a treasure retrieved during the hurried evacuation of their home gripped in a dirty hand, a flickering torch held aloft, illuminating dirt-streaked faces and tired, sunken eyes.

King Tahliorius Star of the kingdom of Wynnd feels exhaustion and misery weigh on his soul, looking out at his court. Their bravery and resilience astounds him every day, but whether it is enough remains to be seen.

Four days.

It has been four days since Shodawes knights poured in the doors of the Wynnd castle, tearing their world apart and slaughtering their knights, ladies, children, elderly, anyone that got in their way. The carnage had only stopped when King Tahliorius had evacuated the castle.

It had been their home for generations upon generations, but what else could he do? To stay was to die. To leave was the only hope that he had of preserving his kingdom.

He looks at their weary faces now, lit only by the pale moonlight and fire of the gods and sees the one thing that scares him most. Defeat. They’ve journeyed for days looking for somewhere they could live, across uncharted land and soulpaths, mansions, dragon dens, and more land, but no land like their kingdom’s territory presented itself. Their old life seems like a distant, unreachable memory that was fading fast.

The kingdom might never be the same.

He feels guilt. Guilt for leaving the towns and villages that trusted the court to keep them safe from all outside threats, guilt for uprooting his court, his _family_ , guilt for not being able to stop Shodawa from wreaking havoc on their lives.

What will the four kingdoms become? Three, then less, then none at all? Could it be that the blood-thirst of one wretched excuse for a man could rend their lives asunder?

“Keep walking!” he calls hoarsely. “Sir Futt, lead us around them!”

“What if they see us?” he hears a soft, trembling voice ask.

He fears the same; the gods are performing some sort of ritual and he does not know what they would do if they caught them intruding, but he says nothing. _I will be strong for my family._

“Keep walking!” he repeats. “They will not see us. They cannot use the Trace, we know it. They will not see us or hear us or sense us, but we _must_ continue on.”

Daede gives him a sombre nod. He can the understanding in his captain’s eyes. Even if the rumours are wrong, even if the gods find them, there is nothing to do but continue.

“Keep walking!”

And they do.

They’re almost past the bonfire when an object comes sailing through the air, obviously thrown by one of the gods.

“Take cover!” the king yells.

His court dives in all directions, a mother curling protectively over her son, willing to die before she lets him be harmed, all putting as much space between themselves and the airborne object as they can.

The explosion seems to rock the world as it hits the ground.

King Tahliorius feels the stinging, bitter taste of god magic wash over him, but the effects are brief and soon he is able to push himself to his feet and hurry past the last stretch of the clearing.

“Lady Fote!”

He feels dread wash over him. _Not Ashra. Not so soon after finding out she would be a mother… No._

But he sees the tall woman limping onwards, supported by Sir Ayer, and the court continues past the edge of the bushes. The court is alive and that is enough for the king.

_We will survive. We must._

“I found a tunnel!” It’s Sir Kelaw, a brave young knight that the king is thankful for. His undying fire will light the way, he knows. “We can shelter in it, for now at least. No trace of anything dangerous, but it’s under a soulpath, so the gods’ corruption…”

He trails off, clearly reading the desperation in the eyes of his king.

“But it will be enough,” Meude Kelaw adds quickly. “We can stay for a little while at least.”

_Enough_ is more than King Tahliorius can hope for. _Enough_ does not feel like nearly enough, but he has to content himself with it for the time being. The fate of his court is at stake.

…

Four years.

It has been four long, heavy, excruciating years since the great court of Wynnd was reduced to a helpless group of survivors that would take food and shelter wherever they could.

As the days, then weeks, then months that the ‘little while’ that the court was staying in the tunnels beneath the soulpaths dragged into years, King Tahliorius has to accept defeat. Ashra’s children, Egell, Hiall, and Dowen have been born and demonstrated in these tunnels under the gaze of their mother and father.

That’s more than can be said for Marrani’s only surviving son. Georse is a smart, strong little boy, but his father is long gone. The loss weighs on Marrani Flor every day, the king knows that much.

The tunnels are their home now.

It could be worse, he tells himself. They could have been cursed to a nomadic existence, always on the run from whatever creature is terrorizing them that week, but still, he cannot find gratitude for these tunnels, only bleak acceptance. The glassy crunch of the souls of the gods overhead is a constant reminder of the fragility of their existence in these tunnels. The darkness, the musty smell, the way it stifles all life and how he can barely breathe as he continues deeper into the earth, following the infinite tunnels into the core of the land...

The memory of sneaking around underground is long faded, but the sting is fresh. _Father… this is not what you would have wanted, I know._

He wraps these memories around himself like a thin blanket, reminding himself for what he still lives so he can face the empty eyes of his court one more time. _Jake. Sayend. Pell. Finchi. I’m only glad you aren’t here to see this._ But that isn’t entirely true. He knows it would be easier to fight through the days with them at his side.

Still. He will continue.

Perhaps Thundria is known for their courage, Shodawa for their cunning, Rivier for their grace, but none can triumph over the indomitable spirit of a Wynnder against all odds. The odds are breathtaking this time around.

_But we will survive; we always survive,_ he tells himself, watching as Daede sends out each meagre group of knights, knowing that whatever they bring back, it won’t be enough. There are no borders to patrol; they no longer have a kingdom, no throne, no crown. _But they have their king and I will be there for them until the Starlaxi calls me._

He stands and walks over to Daede Futt, unable to bear the creeping mold of the walls that he leans against. The soulpaths didn’t seem to have had an effect on the tunnels, but as the years had worn on, the creeping corruption that the gods were known for had slowly begun to creep into their one safe haven.

The patches of wall where the prismatic crystals had begun to form were covered by moth-eaten blankets that were no longer of any use to the court. Like that could stop them. Nothing stopped the gods, he knows well enough.

“How are the children?” he asks, hoping to keep things light and bring a little hope back.

“Georse is feverish,” Sir Futt admits, sighing. “We’ve moved him to another tunnel, but Marrani won’t leave him and I’m worried she’ll get a fever too.”

“Has Barrik been able to…” King Tahliorius trails off, knowing that they both know the answer to that question. “Are the patrols keeping an eye out for… any herb that might help?”

“The gods have killed most of what was living around here,” Sir Futt replies heavily. “And I worry sometimes…”

“It’s the only place we have. We can only pray,” the king answers the proposal that he hadn’t made.

“We’re rotting, Tahl, the whole court is decaying,” Daede tells him, pleading now.

“If Georse recovers or… the Starlaxi takes him, then we will go,” the king compromises, but they both know this game very well. Put it off, put it out of sight and out of mind.

“And if that is too late?” Daede asks softly, but the king has no answer for him.

Sir Futt turns away, resigned, and waves off Owen, Tuoren, and their squires toward the exit of the tunnel.

Wynnd would survive. It had to. But they could not go on like this and King Tahliorius knew it. And yet… _If King Braukkiniaum still terrorizes the land and I lead my court back to him, I will never forgive myself._

And so they would wait and pray that the tunnels would still be enough in five, ten, twenty years. _As long as it takes. I will keep my family safe._

Was it the right thing? He didn’t know. He prayed every night for guidance, but the journey to the silver peaks was impossible. King Braukkiniaum must have known that they would try to run. It hadn’t been a fight, it had been the king’s attempt to destroy the thing between him and ultimate control. He had set the stables aflame and there was no hope of rounding the horses back up.

They had walked, stumbled, crawled as far from the biting steel of the Shodawes ‘knights’ as they could and King Tahliorius knew that he could not retrace his steps alone. He could not leave his kingdom now.

And so he prayed.

When Ashra’s children caught the fever two days later and the howls of their mother cut through the tunnels when it came time to bury Hiall, the king knew his prayers had gone unheard.

_We cannot go on like this. But what else is there but to decay, alone and forgotten?_


	2. Chapter 1 - Fiyr

Chapter 1 - Fiyr

We guard the castle through the night.

I’m glad that we don’t have to stand out on the pavilion or we’d freeze to death; the castle is drafty enough as it is with the repairs from Shodawa’s raid still underway.

Despite the holes in the castle’s wall, it seems the kingdoms are recovering from the tyranny of Braukkiniaum. After the battle in Shodawa’s castle, Braukkiniaum and his inner circle fled into the forests and as far as we know, they haven’t returned. Thank the Starlaxi.

I wonder how Shodawa is doing. Who have they chosen as their new monarch? I didn’t really get a chance to meet any of the Shodawes knights, unless it was while I was trying to skewer them on Rusty—actually, it’s _Fireheart_ now, isn’t it? _Strange. It feels like nothing has changed, but I suppose quite a lot has…_

I touch my fingertip to the ruby in my life-force ring, feeling the lightest pulse of my life-force, soothing me.

But I can’t press back the other anxieties about the kingdoms’ state of affairs. Specifically, Thundria; I don’t know what I should do about the Sir Cawle-Ravne situation. I trust Ravne, but at the same time, there’s an insistence inside me that he couldn’t possibly…

And then of course, there’s Wynnd. Now that Braukkiniaum’s reign has been ended, the kingdom of wind can return to the land, but there’s been no sign of them. It’s a strangely uncomfortable feeling to know about the kingdom’s history and traditions and feel as though they’ve always been around, and still never have known them.

The sun is rising; the faintest glow has begun to bring colour to the slate of the pavilion.

I still haven’t made up my mind about Sir Cawle.

I sigh, glancing at where Graie looks like he’s half asleep on his feet and then look away again. _It’ll be over soon. Maybe ten more minutes._

And Sir Cawle? Can I really just sit back and let the matter resolve itself some other way? _Will Samn handle everything?_ I wish he could, but I know that’s not fair. _He and Ravne have told me what they_ believe _to be the truth._ Then again, how could Ravne have misheard or misunderstood what he saw? He was clear as day. _Sir Cawle murdered Sir Redde Tayle, former captain of the guard of Thundria and Samn’s own father…_

My own mentor.

It’s unthinkable.

He’s gruff, sure, maybe even a little hostile sometimes, but does he have it in him to take a life? To tear down another man to get what he wants, which, if Samn and Ravne are to be believed, is more power?

I sigh again.

Graie is still in place, seemingly unconcerned by everything that plagues my mind.

The sounds of footsteps approaching on stone make me turn toward the door from the hall that leads to the knights’ wing. It’s Sir Wynnd, looking like he woke up approximately thirty seconds ago, hair ruffled and yawning.

I give him a little wave. The silent vigil isn’t over yet, even as the court begins to stir from the long night’s sleep. And it was long, believe me. Even accompanied by Graie and all the miming we could manage, it still feels like the battle against King Braukkiniaum’s guard was months ago when the sun finally starts to come up.

As the court begins to go about their daily tasks, I swallow dread as Duss emerges from the squire’s wing, his bristly brown hair looking like someone tried and failed to tame it with a comb, and stalks toward us.

“Think you’re so great now that you’re knights, do you?”

Subtlety is not one of his strong points.

I keep my lips firmly shut. He knows I won’t break the vigil, regardless of whatever abuse he feels the urge to throw my way this time.

“Ah, give it a rest.”

I try to not to react too extremely, but my stomach jumps at the sound of Samn’s voice; hardly more than a croak and sounding like he was hit by a god’s soul, but there all the same. A smile makes its way past my defenses. Damned Starlaxi. At least I have the self-control not to jump for joy.

After all, I nearly killed him. Hearing and seeing him, and not within the ranks of the Starlaxi, is a blessing after this vigil-of-a-new-anxiety-every-ten-minutes. All the thoughts I’ve bundled up inside for the past eight hours are bubbling up out of my mouth and if the queen doesn’t get out here soon, I might actually lose my mind.

But glancing back at Duss, it’s clear the urge to jump for joy at the sight of the other squire isn’t particularly strong for him. Or there.

“What’s with you?” he snaps bluntly.

Samn crosses his arms. Twisting to get a good look at him, it’s all I can do not to visibly cringe. He’s leaning heavily on a cane and his arm is twisted up in so many bandages I can’t even tell what the damage is. _I really did a number on him._

“Congratulations,” Samn tells me, ignoring Duss’s scowl. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

I don’t reply but crack a half-smile anyway and nod.

_Boy, not talking sure has its perks._ I’ve never been good at not blurting out every single thing that pops into my head; reining it in is new. It’s kind of nice. Everyone else can just talk for awhile and I can sort out what’s going on inside my own head. _Is this what it’s like to have a filter?_

“Fiyr Harte and Graie Sterrip.” The queen’s warm voice nearly makes me sag with relief. _At last!_ I didn’t think I’d be able to hold myself up for another five minutes. “Well done. If you’re up for it, you can make your new beds in the knights’ wing; we have rooms open. Side-by-side.”

Graie grins despite the dark circles under his eyes. Regardless of my own problems, I can’t discount the fact that he’s had a month from the Blacklands. His mentor, his mother’s friend, his best friend… The body count is high.

_Well, Ravne’s not dead,_ I remind myself. The queen doesn’t look like she got much sleep last night, and I have to wonder if that’s why. The kingdom has had its fair share of hardships, but Ravne was young and thinking him dead somewhere on Shodawa’s territory can’t be easy for her.

Sir Strommer comes up beside her, surprisingly unharmed, all things considered, and gives us a grin. “Ah, I remember this. If you’re too tired to set up the new rooms, just head back to the squires’ wing. You can take care of it later.”

We nod.

“And you may speak,” the queen adds.

“Oh thank the Starlaxi,” Graie exclaims, gasping like a dying fish. His voice is almost gone; despite his theatrics, the long silence isn’t easy on the throat. “Thought I was going to explode if I had to stay all hushed up for another minute.”

Duss sneers, but Samn just rolls his eyes with a smile.

“Let’s go back to the squires’ wing before I collapse,” I suggest, clearing my throat and feeling the rawness. “Actually, water first.”

To my utter shock, Samn shrugs. “I can get you some. You two should go sleep.”

Even Sir Strommer seems floored by his offer. Samn is a lot of things, but generous wasn’t on the list, I didn’t think. _Can you be generous_ and _arrogant?_ I wonder, peering at him pensively. _Argh, I’m too tired for this shit._

“Thanks,” I rasp and offer my arm to Graie. He takes it, leaning heavily on me dramatically, though I don’t doubt that he needs some of the support anyway.

“Samn probably shouldn’t be running from the kitchen and back,” the queen interjects. Before Samn can protest, she adds, “Duss, why don’t you fetch our newest knights something to drink?”

I don’t get to enjoy the other boy’s face as Graie and I limp toward the squires’ wing.

“I wouldn’t drink it,” my friend mumbles. “He keeps nightshade in his room for this very purpose. If it smells funny, throw it out. And even if it doesn’t. Still throw it out, I think he has a knack with herbs.”

I laugh—which sounds more like a small animal thrashing around in bracken—and help him back to the squires’ wing. Looking at the familiar nook, it’s hard to believe that soon we won’t be living here anymore. The beds are nicer in the knights’ wing at least. And maybe I can get Duss to do my laundry. That would be glorious.

Laughing to myself, I tuck myself into my bed for the last time and fall asleep the moment my head makes contact with my pillow.

…

_A bitter taste pervades my mouth._

_There’s a strange tinkling noise, like a glass being dropped onto stone and shattering._

_It takes me a moment to place it, but when I blink open my gummy eyes, it becomes immediately obvious that I’ve found myself near a soulpath in completely unfamiliar territory._

_Twisting soulpaths arc and spiral overhead. In front of me, the entrance to a dank cave yawns. Peering inside, I can’t make out much except for gloom, but it’s no matter because the voices that I can hear now are coming from the barren wasteland that surrounds us._

_“Dowen, may your spirit find the Starlaxi quickly and painlessly and may you live out your eternal afterlife in their holy ranks.” An old man’s voice, rumbly and cracking. “Farewell, child.”_

_A woman crying._

_Turning away from the entrance to the cave, I see the crowd. They’re standing around a fire. I can just make out the sight of a small boy’s body laid out in front of them. He might be sleeping, but from the old man’s words, I know it’s not just that._

_Colour is leached from the world around me. The ground falls to a dull gray, the figures in the distance going still and the voices, even the woman’s sobs, going silent._

_“Sir Harte.”_

_I blink. It’s an unfamiliar voice; a man’s, low and a bit raspy. It sounds a bit like Samn, but more like an older man. I turn._

_It’s a man I’ve seen before, though I can’t place it—he’s a little taller than me, in his late thirties or maybe forties, if I had to guess. I recognize his sharp, walnut-brown features as an echo of Samn’s, but his hair is darker, brown and auburn streaking together to form a long braid that lies on his shoulder and comes down to rest near the Thundrian emblem on his uniform. His_ russet-red _uniform. He’s a captain of the guard?_

_It clicks._

_“Sir… Redde Tayle?” I blink._

_He laughs a bit, then rubs the back of his neck in a self-conscious motion. I’ve seen Samn do the same. “The same. I guess my reputation precedes me.”_

_“It’s… an honour to meet you, sir,” I answer honestly. It’s the polite thing to say, but I’m shocked to see this man alive in front of me._ Well, not alive. _I’ve put two and two together by now—this is some kind of dream from the Starlaxi. Why, I can’t imagine, but I’m amazed to see him all the same._

_“You flatter me. I’m glad to see you among Thundria’s ranks, Fiyr,” he tells me. I blink. “You’ll make a good knight, from what I’ve seen.”_

_“Th—thank you,” I stammer. “Um, where are we?”_

_He turns, an almost rueful expression taking over his handsome features. “This is a vision of another part of our world. These people…”_

_I look at the gathered people, the woman bent in despair over the boy’s body, the tall, old man…_

_“This the court of Wynnd. Their grandeur and honour were stripped when they were forced to flee their castle by the Shodawes,” Sir Tayle tells me. “It is your destiny to restore them to their glory. Seek out and follow the wind, Fiyr, for only four can live in true harmony and balance.”_

_I blink, confused. “I—I don’t understand. Why are you here?” It could have been anyone from the Starlaxi, I guess, but I don’t know why this man that I don’t know would be the one coming to talk to me._

_His solemn expression takes on the faintest shade of amusement. “You need guidance, Fiyr, and I think I may soon be in the right position to give it to you.”_

_Despite the dire situation playing out behind us, I still find the time to be embarrassed by what he’s suggesting. “What?”_

_“Nevermind. You need to return to the world of the waking, now. Remember, though, there must be four.”_

_Suddenly, he splits, like I’m going cross-eyed, and there are two of the same man in front of me, then they double again and four Redde Tayles._

_“Only four.”_

Because there are four of him? That’s about as subtle as Duss, _I think._

 _As though thinking of him summons him, I can suddenly hear Duss’s voice. He’s shouting at me. It’s only then that I remember the other connection to the man in front of me._ Did Sir Cawle...

_“Wait, Sir Tayle, before you go, I need to ask—”_

_Then Duss’s voice snaps me out of the dream._

…

“Sir Cawle wants you on evening patrol,” Duss shouts, far louder than necessary, as he barges into my nook.

I flinch, twisting further into the sheets. _The Starlaxi damn me, I didn’t ask him. Shit._

“Unless you’d like to explain to him that now that you’re a knight, you don’t answer to anyone,” he jeers.

_Jealous much?_

I turn over and groan. “Alright, alright, I’ll come in a moment.”

“Sir Cawle isn’t a patient man.”

As Duss leaves, I wonder if he’s even faintly aware of the sinister double entendre. He’s right, Sir Cawle isn’t a patient man. So if Samn and Ravne are right, and Sir Cawle _is_ willing to kill for power—which is becoming less and less of such a far leap of logic every time I think about it—then how long before he strikes to take what he wants? How long can I afford to dither?

How many die before I try to stop him?

I think of Sir Hartef and wince. Could that, too, have been prevented? But that fight was with Shodawa. Then again, would Sir Cawle go so far as to collude with a tyrant? It seems crazy, but I would have said anyone who questioned Sir Cawle’s loyalty to the kingdom a year ago was crazy too. It seems less insane these days.

My mind hurts.

I get out of bed wearily and dress, a little embarrassed that I don’t have the new dark green knight uniform yet, but I’ll make do. Just so long as Duss, Sir Teyl, or Sir Styrp aren’t on the patrol.

“Nice uniform.”

_Damned Starlaxi._

I face Liang’s smirking face and do my best not to turn bright red, striding toward the patrol. At least Graie’s on it.

“Couldn’t find any that would fit someone so scrawny?”

Unfortunately, so is Sir Styrp.

This patrol can’t be over fast enough.

…

When we’re _finally_ back on the Thundrian pavilion, I hurry into the castle to search for the queen. The whole time, despite all of Liang and Darriek’s mockery, I couldn’t get my mind off of Sir Cawle. I need to at least warn her. Even if she doesn’t believe me… I have to know that I’ve tried.

I catch sight of the queen, then I curse under my breath as she disappears into her private chamber with Sir Cawle. _Guess now’s not the right time. But how many ‘wrong times’ can I afford?_

Graie claps me on the shoulder, making me jump and nearly hit the ceiling.

“Skittish, aren’t you?” he exclaims. “Yeah. I saw the queen too.”

“What am I going to do? He follows her… like, _everywhere_. And if she’s not with him, she’s with Sir Styrp, and if she’s not with Sir Styrp, she’s with Sir Teyl, and if she’s not with Sir Teyl, she’s like “Ooh, don’t bother me Fiyr, Thundria needs me right now”.” I groan.  
Graie snorts at my poor imitation of the queen and gives me a little pat. “You’ll find the time.”

Finally voicing my fears, I reply, “And what about if that’s too late? I just want to tell her about Ravne, at least.”

“Didn’t Samn say he’d tell everyone Ravne was dead?” Graie cocks his head. “You gonna go behind your one true love’s back like that?”

“Oh, lay off, would you?” I groan, slapping my forehead. “We’re talking about potential conspiracy against the kingdom here!”

“Yeah, I’d rather talk about your love life,” Graie sighs. “I’ve been depressed enough lately.”

“Uh… yeah,” I reply, not knowing what else I _can_ say. How he manages to put a smile on his face through all this is kilometres beyond me. Different kinds of strength, I suppose.

Our conversation is cut short when Queen Bluelianna calls a court meeting.

As the court assembles, I study her. She looks decades older than she did when I joined the court and I can fathom why. It worries me to see her with this kind of weakness though. I don’t doubt that there’s still strength in her bones, but the frailness, especially in front of the court, is concerning. Nonetheless, her voice is strong when it rings out across the assembled court.

“Sewif has reached the age of twelve years,” the queen announces. The ceremony is no surprise to anyone; the kid has been getting under everyone’s feet despite his small stature and I think the whole court is glad he’ll have a mentor to keep him in line.

“I call upon the Starlaxi to recognize this boy. He wishes to learn the way of the knight and one day join your noble rank. You will train under Sir Liang Teyl until you reach your full potential and take on the name of a full knight.” I wince in pity for the poor kid. Even though Sewif’s kind of a nuisance, training under that jerk isn’t exactly going to be a sunlit walk.

“Sir Teyl, you were trained well by Sir Styrp and you will pass on all you’ve learned to this young squire. I call upon the Lunar Crystal to give this boy his life-force ring!”

I recognize the words and the action of the sceptre being hit on the ground from my own ceremony. Sewif looks on with contained excitement on his rat-like features as the white, pearly mist speeds toward him and snakes around his hand.

“Sewif! Sewif!”

I throw in a couple cheers of my own and glance through the crowd.

Cindra, the little girl that got saved from Shodawa, is staring at me intensely. I give her a little smile and wave.

…

In the months that pass, Graie and I settle into being knights. Our rooms, side by side, are as I suspected, far more comfortable than the nooks we had as squires, and our routine has changed from the seemingly endless lessons of squirehood to patrolling and supply runs, along with the occasional bit of repair.

So far, the only bit of excitement I’ve had was leading a patrol of knights against a band of mercenaries that were pillaging nearby villages. We had half as many knights, but I’m quickly learning that without life-force or training with steel, humans are easy to take down.

I’ve been relying more on the latter.

Ever since the disastrous events of the battle for Shodawa, I’m trying to keep my power in check. I can feel the flames in my veins, thrumming with potential and waiting for opportunity, but I never give the order to release. How can I, knowing that with the members of the court all around me, someone else could be hurt the same way Samn was? Or… worse?

But I can put thoughts of battle out of my mind, thankfully. It’s the solstice, and every kingdom knows to respect the truce. Even if there were doubts that King Braukkiniaum would before, now that they presumably have a new monarch, Shodawa will fall in line. I hope.  
“Thundria, to me!” the queen calls.

I spot Sir Cawle falling behind with Liang and Sewif, so I hurry to the queen’s side, hoping it might be my chance. _If I can just let her know quickly, then she can decide what she’ll do with the information_ , I reassure myself.

“Queen Bluelianna! Your majesty, I—I should tell you something,” I say hurriedly, not knowing how long I’ll have before Sir Cawle returns to her side.

“Then speak freely,” she invites, hope and determination glittering in her blue eyes. What for, I can only guess.

“Ravne—Ravne did not die,” I blurt.

Her step falters and she exhales deeply, like she’s letting go of the breath she’s held since she heard the news. “I am glad,” she murmurs. “He would have been too young. But where is he now? And what reason did you have to lie about it?”

_Well, I’m glad you asked._

“He’s—safe,” I say falteringly. I trust her, but I have limited time and I’m not going to waste time explaining about Barrleigh. “But I have— _good_ reason to believe that Sir Cawle is a traitor to the kingdom.”

The queen’s brows flicker up the smallest bit. The lack of shutting me down emboldens me.

“He killed Redde Tayle,” I add nervously. “He’s after leadership and he won’t stop—”

“Fiyr, what are you talking about? Oeak—the Rivien captain killed Sir Tayle,” she insists. I don’t think I’m imagining the nervous gleam in her eyes. She doesn’t want to believe it. _I_ didn’t want to believe it, and here we are.

“No. Sir Tayle killed the Rivier captain and then Sir Cawle killed Si—” I counter but she’s already cutting in.

“Fiyr, why would Sir Tayle kill another man?” the queen asks sharply. “It is against the knight’s code, and Redde was the most honourable man I have known. I hope you realize what a serious accusation this is.”

I swallow hard and soldier on.

“I—I can’t explain what Sir Tayle did, all I know is that Ravne is _certain_ that Sir Cawle was the one to kill him. And—and I believe him.”

The queen looks up at the moon and sighs heavily.

“Fiyr, you’re a bright young man, and I don’t fault you for having faith in your friends,” she begins, and I brace myself for what’s coming, “but it was Ravne’s first battle. He was very young and badly injured and… don’t you think it’s possible that he may have simply misunderstood what he saw? That is, how much of the battle against Shodawa do you remember?”

I falter. “I—I—”

_We gathered the elders and attacked the castle and then… um, fought Shodawes knights. There was the thing with Dawhnnea and then Yllowei and Braukkiniaum, and Clehw…_ But it was hard to pick out the details.

Seeming to see the confliction on his face, Bluelianna continues, “Couldn’t he have made an error?”

I shake my head. “How could he have misunderstood that?”

The queen’s mouth is set in a line. “I would have to speak to him to understand that.”

“Will you seek him out?” I ask, trying to stop a scowl from crossing my face.

She must see my expression because she takes my arm, almost to steady the coming storm of frustration. “No. I believe I may know where he is, but I do not think that if he has chosen this path we should disturb him now. If he is willing to leave the kingdom for what he believes, then I don’t doubt his conviction.”

Frustration rises in my throat to the point where I can’t speak for a moment. “Then why—”

“The court waits by the border, Your Majesty,” Tigre Cawle tells her as he and Edge come over to us.

“Thank you, Sir Cawle,” the queen says firmly, though it seems like it’s more aimed at me.

I swallow a sigh and watch as the two of them hurry toward the border of Rivier where the rest of the Thundrian court is standing.

We make the rest of the trip to the pavilion in silence. I stew in my own anger. _I want her to—to—to do something! I put the information in her hands so she could choose what to do! But “nothing” isn’t an acceptable answer! She makes it sound like she isn’t even going to consider it!_

“Didn’t go so well?” Graie mumbles to me, riding up beside me as we reach the stretch of weathered stones by the Thundrian pillar. “Not the right time, again?”

“Worse than that,” I admit. “She won’t even listen.”

His brow furrows. “Uh, did she clap her hands over her ears and start singing ‘ _lalalala can’t hear you’_ or what?”

I make a noise halfway between a grunt and a snort. _Even when I’m mad he’s trying to make me laugh._ “Nah, she just made flimsy arguments and then when I explained, she just… she just left.”

Graie sighs. “Yikes.”

“Yikes is an understatement! It could be the fate of the court at stake here!” I hiss, rounding on him.

“Relax. You just need to explain that to her,” Graie tells me, holding up his hands in surrender. “C’mon, what defense does she have against Ravne’s accusations?”

I bury my face in my hands as the court ahead of us dismounts.

“Well, if Sir Cawle didn’t kill Sir Hahrte of Rivier in revenge for what he did to Sir Tayle, then Sir Tayle was the one to kill Sir Hahrte,” I explain. “Meaning Sir Tayle broke the knight’s code.”

“Ah.”

Graie nods and chews on his lip pensively. I sigh and scrub my face with my hands. _He won’t come up with a brilliant plan. I just need to figure out a way to-_

“Get Samn to do it!” Graie snaps his fingers as he exclaims it.

“Why would that help?” I grumble, glancing up at him through my fingers.

“Sir Tayle’s own son backing up the accusation against his father would be pretty hard to refute. If anyone has motive to make excuses for why the Sir Cawle thing didn’t actually happen, it would be Samn. But he’s not doing that; he’s totally convinced. So maybe if we get Sir Tayle’s number one fan to tell Sir Tayle’s number two fan that he might have actually broke the knight’s code—of course, more importantly, that Sir Cawle is plotting to kill to get his way—then maybe she’ll be more inclined to believe him!” Graie declares.

I blink. “You… think that getting Samn to tell her will help? Because Samn loves his father? That’s… weird logic. But it makes sense, I suppose…”

“Also…” Graie leans over conspiratorially. “Samn is a major suck-up. Of all the squires, he’s probably on the best terms with the queen.”

I nod, beginning to see the sense in his plan. “But… how exactly are we going to convince him? I mean, if he was willing to smuggle Ravne out of the kingdom, why wouldn’t he also tell the queen? Especially since he’s… er, a suck-up.”

Graie frowns. “I guess that would depend on why he’s not telling her. You’re right. Something doesn’t add up. Well, why don’t you just ask him?”  
I flinch.

“Alright, what’s your damage?” Graie asks, sighing. “You’ve been jumpy around him since our ceremonies.”  
“Since the battle,” I correct.

“Ah.”

The coin’s dropped, I guess. It can’t be too hard for him to figure out that I _might_ not be the most comfortable around a guy I blew up. _What a mystery! Gosh Fiyr, the stuff you do just makes no darn sense!_ I mock in my head.

“Do you plan to avoid him for the rest of time, then?” Graie prods. “It’s been months.”

I frown. It’s probably closer to a pout. “Well, no. But… just until everything goes back to normal.”  
He raises his eyebrows at me. “What’s _normal_? Samn’s healed, you haven’t exploded since, there haven’t been any more battles… I don’t know what you want.”

I’m saved from having to answer, or figuring out what I would say, by it becoming our turn to dismount and tie our mounts to the trees. I do so silently, pretending to focus on the clasps and not looking at Graie, who is audibly sighing at regular intervals.

We head into the solstice pavilion where Rivier and Shodawa have already arrived. The two courts are only tentatively mingling, which I can’t exactly fault them for, all things considered.

“Shodawa’s looking better already,” Graie comments brightly, apparently having decided to drop our previous conversation entirely.

“Their new king,” I remark, pointing up at the platform where Sir Nait stands awkwardly, looking almost comically frail next to the queen’s squared shoulders and King Crukkedaro’s… enormity.

“More importantly,” Graie breathes to me, discreetly pointing a finger toward where the captains have congregated at the bottom of the platform. Sir Cawle is chatting up the Rivien captain, Leaparra, a fairly young woman compared to King Crukkedaro, whose broad shoulders and muscular arms assure everyone in a ten metre radius that they don’t want to mess with her.

We fall silent as Queen Bluelianna clears her throat and steps forward.

“Thundria is pleased to report that we have helped Shodawa expel their tyrannous king from their land and we wish them good hunting and a swift return to power in the coming seasons,” the queen announces courteously. “We also have a new squire, Sewif, trained by Sir Liang Teyl. Thundria’s court also boasts two new knights. Sirs Graie Sterrip and Fiyr Harte!”

I swell with pride as the three kingdoms begin to call out our names. Graie grins and elbows me but I can tell he’s pleased too.

“And finally, we have a new court healer after the tragic death of Spottalia Lief,” Queen Bluelianna declares. “Yllowei Fennen has joined our ranks.”

I hear some surprised mumbling from Shodawa, but the glares of the ladies of the court of Thundria are enough to silence them. I guess it still hasn’t occurred to them that _maybe_ the tyrant-king was lying! _What a shocker. Were people really just believing him because they didn’t want to worry about how they’d deal with him if he was the enemy?_ Then the irony of what I’m saying occurs to me and I shut down the line of thought.

The queen finished and steps back. King Crukkedaro motions graciously with a gloved hand for King Nait to deliver his news next.

He clears his throat awkwardly, but he manages an even, projected tone. “Ah, yes, as Queen Bluelianna mentioned, King Braukkiniaum has been driven from our territory and stripped of his title. I am the new Shodawes king. Though I have yet to make my journey to the Lunar Temple, I hope that you can all accept my rule.”

He pauses. People exchange glances, wondering if that was the end or if it’s for effect.

“We also… uh, _request_ that Rivier continue to allow us to send out fishing boats on the outskirts of our territory,” the new king declares, then withdraws to let King Crukkedaro speak.

The mountainous man steps forward. Though Rivier has yet to make vocal protest of King Nait’s declaration, I have no doubt that the king isn’t going to roll over on this one.

“Request denied,” the king states mildly with a fleeting smile. “Of course, the small issue of Wynnd no longer using their lands can easily be resolved if we share it. It will also eliminate Shodawa’s need to expand into other kingdoms’ territory. Is this satisfactory?”  
“Indeed,” King Nait replies, an easy smile replacing the deepening frown that had appeared at the Rivien king shooting down his request. “Would the southern moors suit you?”

Before King Crukkedaro has a chance to reply, Queen Bluelianna steps forward, the moonlight illuminate the deathly glare she’s shooting the monarchs.

“It would not suit _me_ ,” she interjects. “Pray tell, _King_ Nait, what do you see?”

“The… courts? It’s a Gathering,” he replies, puzzled. “The solstice pavilion?”

“The four pillars,” she answers for him. “But only three courts. There is an imbalance in the kingdoms, and it will not be resolved by you two picking over the leavings of the kingdom of Wynnd like vultures. We must right the wrong that the tyrant of Shodawa inflicted on the kingdoms. You would not want to leave this trace of King Braukkiniaum’s rule behind, would you? Or tacitly support it?”

I suppress a smirk. King Nait shrinks back, a frown on his face.

“I—I suppose not... But Shodawa requires hunting rights,” he insists. “Our land is not enough. Our stores run low!”

“Then I suggest you scour your _own_ forests a little more carefully,” Queen Bluelianna replies coolly, heading to the edge of the platform to get down. “If that’s all…?”  
“The Gathering may end, yes,” King Nait grunts. “I suppose we must help Wynnd return.”

King Crukkedaro frowns and folds his arms, but nods nonetheless.

I raise my eyebrows at Graie. His shit-eating grin is wide enough to split his face.

“So why can’t she just kick Tigre Cawle’s ass the same way and then we can all head off into the sunset?” I grumble. _If only it were that easy._


	3. Chapter 2 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chonmk chapter

Chapter 2 - Fiyr

“Let all of the court that have demonstrated their life-force gather for a court meeting!” Queen Bluelianna called.

“What happened?” Heff Tyle demanded, hobbling up to the dais.

“Was Shodawa there?” Willowamina cut in.

“I’ll explain everything in a moment,” the queen says, beckoning the court to the dais. “The Gathering tonight marked the last straw in the exile of the court of Wynnd. I’ve decided that Thundria will send a couple knights on a journey to bring them back.”

Glances are exchanged, but no one says anything. I recall my dream and wonder if the Starlaxi and Sir Tayle was trying to tell me something about them. _Am I the one supposed to bring them back? Will the queen choose me? Maybe I should tell her about my dream!_ I wonder in excitement, but the queen continues before I get a chance.

“Unfortunately, Shodawa and Rivier have expressed… less enthusiasm for the return of the fourth kingdom,” the queen says diplomatically. “Our patrol will be travelling alone. Neither King Crukkedaro nor King Nait—”

“Who?” Wonn Eie croaked from the back.

“The new king of Shodawa,” the queen calls out to her.

“Is he _really_ the king?” she retorts.

The queen frowns, then sighs. “He has not received the Nine Blessings yet, but—”

“Then he’s not the real king!” Lady Eie grumbles.

I can almost _see_ the queen regulating her temper. “Shodawa has accepted him. Until then, he speaks for them and commands their court. His acceptance by the Starlaxi is a matter of time.”

As the queen explains the rest of the events of the Gathering, I spot Samn at the edge of the crowd. I glance at Graie next to me, who looks over, follows my gaze, then gives me a cheesy wink.

_I’ll slip pepper into his tea later,_ I promise myself to avoid kicking him in the shin, weaving my way through the clustered crowd over to Samn.

“Sorry you weren’t chosen to go to the Gathering,” I apologize under my breath to him, no idea of how to start a conversation. As usual.

“Ride for an hour or two so I get to listen to some Shodawes knight wax on about how it’s totally okay to pillage an absent kingdom’s territory? I’m broken up about it, make no mistake,” he replies dryly.

I’m about to reply when Sir Strommer turns around and gives me a glare. I mime sewing my lips shut. Samn sticks his tongue out at his back when the knight turns back around.

I bite my cheek to stop myself from spouting another stupid comment.

Eventually, the queen wraps it up by sending Sir Wynnd and Duss out on patrol. The crowd begins to disperse, but the queen cuts through the crowd toward Samn and I. I try not to grin too wide. _She’s going to ask me to go looking for Wynnd!_

“Samn, may I speak to you in my private chambers?” she asks, offering him her arm.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

_Damn it._ I sigh and head back to the knights’ wing. Graie beat me to our rooms and is sitting on his bed, stirring his nightly tea while staring at the door. When I pass his doorway, his gaze focuses on me.

“Hey! Come in here a sec!” he hisses.

I startle, then oblige and sit on his quilted bed cover with him.

“What is it?”

He raises an eyebrow. “So? You talked to him? Spill!”

I run a hand through my hair. “Well, I didn’t really get to anything important. I couldn’t exactly talk while the queen was in the middle of her announcement and then the minute it was done, she came over and told Samn to see her in her private chamber.”

Graie sipped his tea, raising his eyebrows. “Well, then what _did_ you say to him?”  
I frown. “Why are you asking?”

He shakes his head pityingly.

“Ah, deflection tactics. Unfortunately, Graie is like a dog with a bone, and won’t let it go that easily!” he declares, slurping his tea with a vengeance between declarations. “You. Samn. So?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Graie groans and slams his mug down on his bedside table, careful not to spill it, and falls back on his bed. “You’re impossible. Come on, the one bit of gossip that there is at court and you won’t even give me the details!”

“There are no details!” I retort, standing and heading back into the doorway. “And there is no gossip! There’s gossip? Who’s gossiping?”  
“Everyone!” Graie exclaims, then groans and throws a pillow at me. “Go to bed, you insufferable nitwit.”

I roll my eyes at him and head to my own room. _Who’s gossiping? Agh, I don’t care. Not at all._

Sleep doesn’t come easily.

…

_A child screaming._

_The burn of god magic is harsh on my tongue. The clattering of the soulpath is almost overwhelming; it’s so close, too close, I need to get back._

_The wail is cut off._

…

I’m woken by Graie.

“Patrol?” I mumble blearily. “I thought…”

“No, you cheesecake! We got chosen for the Wynnd mission!”  
Well, now I’m awake.

I dress as quickly as I can and hurry into the queen’s private chambers. Graie and Sir Cawle are already there. _Oh no… Sir Cawle isn’t coming, is he?_

“Sir Sterrip. Sir Harte. The court can spare very few knights on such short notice, so despite your youth, I’m sending you both to retrieve the court of Wynnd,” the queen announces unceremoniously.

I try not to sigh in relief.

“Thank you, Your Majesty, it’s… an honour,” I say, kneeling.

“Enough of that,” she says dismissively. “The captain will prepare you for your journey and Yllowei Fennen is getting your travelling herbs as we speak.”

Sir Cawle’s mouth is set in a line. I don’t know if it’s just his usual scowl or… a horrible thought occurs to me. _What if Queen Bluelianna told him? What if—_

“The journey will be dangerous. You’ll be travelling into uncharted territory outside of the kingdoms’ reach. No one knows where the court has gone. That is, except for Braukkin and his outcasts but I think you’d be better off trying to track year-old traces,” Sir Cawle tells us, folding his burly arms.

“You must leave as soon as possible,” the queen informs us. “There’s no telling how long King Nait’s agreement to leave the territory alone will last, and if Wynnd can reclaim their territory, balance will be restored whether they like it or not. That being said, this journey could be long. And as Sir Cawle said, dangerous. You should set out around noon. Any goodbyes you have should be done before then.”

The statement makes nerves begin to squirm in my stomach. _Goodbyes?_

I nod stiffly and Sir Cawle ushers us out of her chambers.

“Meet back here in three hours,” he orders us, then heads off toward where Liang and Darriek guard the castle’s entrance.

Graie gives me an expectant look.

“What?”

“You’re not going to go say ‘bye to anyone?” he asks, frowning.

“Aren’t you?!” I demand.

He folds his arms. “Yes, in fact. But aren’t you?”

“You’re the only one I’d need to say goodbye to, and you’re coming with me,” I reply.

“The only one?”

I run my hands through my hair and avoid his smug look.

“That’s what I thought.”

I hurry off to the dining hall before I can suffer through another of Graie’s knowing looks. _Whatever. I’ll say goodbye to Yllowei, Samn, and Sir Strommer if it makes him happy._

Sir Strommer is sitting across from Samn at one of the tables. _Two for one,_ I think, and walk over to them. _Up early. Early morning training, then?_

I say, “Hey.”

Then immediately try to will myself out of existence as my voice cracks horribly.

“Morning, Sir Harte,” Sir Strommer greets me with a smirk that he fails to hide with his mug of coffee. “I heard about your little mission from the queen.”

“What mission?!” Samn cuts in, more than a little jealous.

I allow myself a little gloating. “Oh, nothing, she just wanted me to bring the court of Wynnd back.”

Samn scowls. “She asked _you?_ ”

“Don’t be rude,” Sir Strommer chides him, but I think he’s said those exact words about a thousand times already, and they’ve had no effect so far.

“Yes, Graie and I,” I reply, then glance down, feeling less like teasing. I can’t help glancing back up at him, trying to gauge his reaction. “I might be gone for a long time.”

“Oh.” Samn swallows and looks down too. “Well. Good luck.”

“Good luck,” Sir Strommer agrees. I don’t even need to look at him to know what his face is doing. His tone makes it plain enough.

“I wanted… uh, to say before I went, that… well,” I mumble.

Sir Strommer slurps his coffee.

“That I… well, that you’ll, um, you’ll be a great knight,” I say awkwardly.

Silence.

“Don’t die,” Samn suggests. “If you die, I’m going to go up to the Starlaxi like a damn ser and kick your ass.”

I snort. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Sir Strommer stands and claps me on the shoulder, releasing us from the awkward Blacklands we’ve ended up in. “Make Thundria proud, son. If Graie doesn’t come to see me before you two head off, I’m going to have a few choice words for him. I have something to give him.”

“Alright, I’ll get the message to him,” I reply, giving him an awkward hug and hurrying off before I can make more painful memories to endlessly replay in my mind instead of falling asleep.

I find Graie back in the throne room, waiting expectantly.

“So what did he say?” he demands.

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t profess my love to him, if that was what you were waiting for.”

He stares at me. “Blessed _Starlaxi_ , you’re denser than cheesecake, you know that? I meant about… _the thing! The queen thing!_ ”

“Wha—oh. I didn’t tell him. Should I have? Shit. I should have. Damn it,” I groan.

The look Graie is giving me is less than sympathetic.

“Alright, but you have to go distract Sir Strommer,” I tell him.

“Yeah yeah, just go deal with Samn.”

I hurry off back toward the dining hall and run into him halfway there. He raises an eyebrow at me.

“So are you leaving at any time in the foreseeable future?” he grumbles, folding his arms.

“You seem awfully eager for me to leave,” I retort.

“Statistically, it would be safer for my health.”

I wince. “Look, that’s… not what this is about.”

“Make it quick, I have life-force lessons in about five minutes.” He looks at me expectantly.

_Grr, what’s with him?_ I duck into one of the back hallways and beckon him. “This isn’t the kind of stuff I want to spread around the court.”

“You’ve heard the gossip too?” he groans, slapping his forehead.

_What gossip!?_ But I rein in the urge to demand it and instead wave my hand dismissively. “Forget all that stuff for a sec. I really need to talk to you before I leave, because who knows how long this journey is going to take, and I… I think we should deal with it first.”

His hand is on my arm. Why is his hand on my arm?

“Ah—what?” I mumble. “Sir Cawle is—”

“Oh shit,” he croaks and releases my arm. “Uh. Right.”

“You need to talk to the queen,” I pursue, feeling heat creep up my neck. “Who knows how long it’ll last until he strikes next?”

Samn nods, but he looks upset.

“What’s wrong? Are—are you okay? Was there something else you wanted to talk about?” I babble.

He squints at me, then shrugs. “Nothing that can’t wait until you get back. Good luck. I’ll talk to the queen.”

“Great! I’m glad! Uh, super duper!” I flash him a thumbs-up and hurry off.

Graie meets me back in the throne hall and upon seeing my face, tilts his head. “What’s wrong? Did he refuse? But why? I don’t get it, what reason would he have to not—uh, what happened?”

“I’ll figure that out later,” I sigh.

“Ah. Got it.” He waggles his eyebrows. I punch him.

“Let’s just go talk to Yllowei,” I groan.

“You’re blushing.”

“You’re going to shut up now. Did _you_ talk to Sir Strommer?” I change topics, willing the blood out of my face.

“I thought you wanted me to shut up.” At my expression, he snorts and adds, “Yeah. He just wanted to wish me luck, give me tips, you know, the usual. He gave me this.”

He holds up a faded chunk of gray stone. Slate, if I had to guess.

“What is it?” I ask, reaching the doorway of the healer’s wing.

“Piece of the Wynnd pillar. The one in the solstice pavilion?” Graie waves it in front of my face like that’ll help me remember. “It’ll give us a sense of the life-force trace that we’re looking for. Change dimensions.”

I breathe out slowly and then glance through the murky air at the piece of stone in his hand. It’s glowing bright green like a leaf in sunlight. “Blessed Starlaxi!”

The shock sends me out of the Trace, but I got enough of a taste to know that this innocuous lump of rock could be invaluable to our journey. _But why did Sir Strommer have that, and not the queen…? Guess it doesn’t matter._

“You want the travelling packs?” Yllowei rasps, coming to greet us where we’re loitering in the doorway. “Well, come in!”

She ushers us toward the desk on the far side of the wing where all the shelves of herbs are. The desk is littered with papers and loose leaves. I remember with a sting the orderly piles that Spottalia kept them in. _But it’s not her desk anymore. She’s with the Starlaxi now._ _Not gone forever, though. She lives on in the stars. Just… out of reach of the court._

“Court of Thundria to Fiyr, come in, Fiyr,” Graie mimes the amulet that the queen uses to call the court to a meeting. “What are you thinking about?”

“Can’t a guy have a tiny bit of privacy around here?” I push his shoulder with mine, giving him a scolding look.

He pouts and grabs the wax-paper wrapped packet that Lady Fennen is offering him. She turns back to her desk and picks up an identical one. I take it as well and she shoos us over to one of the unoccupied cots.

“Congratulations to both of you for your first mission,” Yllowei rasps. “Wynnd will be in good hands. Two half-grown knights.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” Graie frowns at her.

Yllowei’s wrinkly face cracks open in a toothy smile. “Of course not, boy. They’re lucky to have you. You two children.”

As we leave with our packs, I mutter, “Old bag,” under my breath.

Sir Cawle meets us in the throne room.

“Do you know the way?” he grunts, giving us both an appraising look.

Graie produces a map. I have no idea where he found that, but when he unrolls it, I notice the little ink smudges. _He drew it. Wow. I mean, he probably copied it out of one of the books, but still._

“Good. The new Shodawes king will be travelling to the Lunar Temple. Don’t get in his way,” the captain warns us. “The monarch’s journey is a private endeavour and I don’t doubt that the last thing he would want is two young knights crossing his path. You’ll do great. Make Thundria proud.”

I’m a little surprised at the warmth in his voice. Every time he talks, I have to force myself not to visibly react. It’s hard looking at him and knowing what he did. Or what he supposedly did. _What he did,_ I tell myself. Being convinced of that is difficult when he’s acting like any other knight, though.

“Let’s go,” Graie says grimly.

I nod.

We head to the knights’ stables where Blitz and Quicksilver are grazing. I do a double take when I realize they’re yoked to a wagon.

“Huh?” I mumble dumbly.

“Could be a long journey; they want us to have enough supplies,” Graie replies.

“That looks like enough supplies for a whole _court—_ oh.” Of course. We don’t know what state the court of Wynnd will be in. But picking through the wagon’s contents, I find jars of salves for injuries and sacks of potatoes and vegetables. _Blessed Starlaxi. Is all this going to be necessary?_

Graie shrugs. “I’m just wondering how we’re going to get this down through the trees. It’s a bit big for the spot.”

“Might as well try,” I shrug, and we lead Blitz and Quicksilver to the patch in the trees that hums with life-force. Thankfully, the moment the horses touch it, they disappear.

We head down the ladder to the forest floor and mount the horses. Despite the somber nature of our mission, I can’t help enjoying the cool air and the trees, resplendent in their golden and rusty-red foliage. We can’t go above a moderate pace since the root-laden path that takes us out of Thundrian territory is already making the wagon rattle and shake which makes the meander through the scenic forest nice.

“How fast do you think we’ll find them?” Graie breaks the silence, a hint of nerves in his voice. “Like… weeks? Or maybe months?”

I scratch my head. “No idea, to tell you the truth. How’s that stone supposed to help us find them though?”

Graie pulls it out of his bag and examines it. “Well, it has such a strong Wynnder trace that we’ll recognize the Wynnder trace of the court better when we find it… or so Sir Strommer said.”

“I wonder how Ravne’s doing,” I think aloud, changing the subject. “He’s probably settled in… do you think he misses the Thundrian court?”

He shrugs, looking up at the grayish-sky partially blocked out by the criss-crossing branches. “Maybe. I mean, how could he not? He grew up here. But I hope he’s not too homesick. If the whole… _y’know_ … _thing_ is true, then he really deserves to be happy. Barrleigh seems like a good guy, too. Ravne’s probably living up the farm life. Next time we see him, he’ll have a tan, mark my words.”

He sounds like he’s reassuring himself as much as me, but the idea of Ravne, so pale he’s almost purple, with a tan makes me burst out in laughter.

“More like a burn,” I shoot back. “Mark _my_ words, if his skin isn’t half-gone the next time we see him, I’ll… I’ll propose to Duss.”

This time it’s Graie who snorts so hard I’m surprised his nose is still attached to his face.

“He’ll be alone forever, I fear,” I add, grinning.

“Oh, don’t say that, maybe one day he’ll pull the tallest tree in Thundria’s forests out of his ass and find someone nice to settle down with,” he replies but isn’t able to stifle a scoff at his own words. “But I’ll be shocked if it happens.”

“Do you think he’s intentionally being the kingdoms’ most unavailable bachelor?” I deadpan. “Or does it come naturally to him?”

Graie sighs. “Well, a serial case of no-love-life isn’t limited to prickly dicks like Duss, it would seem. I mean, look at me. Irresistible, right? And _yet_ , against _all_ odds, I’m single!”

I can’t help a snort. At his mock-wounded look, I regulate my expression and clear my throat. “Yeah, but wasn’t your dad from one of the Thundrian villages?”

Graie rolls his eyes. “I mean, _yes_ , but that was because the court was like, ten people at the time, and the only person my mother’s age was her brother, and… _yuck_.”

I shrug. “Well, she had no options, and you have no options…?”  
“Settle down with some villager?” Graie shrugs. “I don’t know… it would be really weird to just _bring_ someone into the court. Besides, I’m not rushing into anything.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You were _just_ complaining about lack of options.”

Graie grins. “You’ve opened my eyes, Fiyr, thank you _ever_ so much.”

I shake my head and resign myself to the silliness of the entire trek through the Thundrian forests with this contradictory mess of a self-described ‘irresistible bachelor’.

…

We reach the border as the sun is setting and a dusky orange glow has spread across the horizon. The forest is thinning out to flat moorlands and fields, heralding the arrival of Wynnd’s territory.

“Alright, let’s test this rock then,” Graie proposes, producing the stone.

Slipping into the Trace, I let the bright green energy ripple over me and try to connect it somehow to the impossibly faint traces of the Wynnder court that is overpowered by the Thundrian trace wafting over the border and the fading dragon trace from the nearby caves. My concentration is broken when a completely different trace washes over me.

“Hang on, do you sense that?” I mutter to Graie, trying to catch it again. “It… it’s like Rivien trace?”

“Why would there be Rivien trace in Wynnder territory?” Graie replies, frowning and leaving the Trace.

I pause, thinking of the Gathering. “Well, if they know that Thundria intends to make some kind of play to bring Wynnd back, they might as well capitalize on the vacant territory while they still can. And I don’t think they’d look too favourably on Thundrians meddling.”

Graie chews on that for a moment, then suggests, “Let’s find out what they’re up to and then give them a wide berth and continue into the territory.”

I nod, then falter and glance back at the wagon. “That’ll get in our way though, won’t it?”

“We can stash it in the cavern over there,” Graie offers, pointing toward where the faint dragon trace is coming from.

“What about the dragon?” I protest.

“It’s months old,” Graie argues. “It’s fiiiine, the wagon will be perfectly safe. Better than it being pillaged by Rivien knights.” I shrug and we lead Blitz and Quicksilver to the entrance of the cavern. Slipping into the fifth dimension, I recognize the truth in Graie’s reasoning. The trace is weak at best. I don’t think Blitz is in any more danger here than out there.

Leaving the wagon in the rocky overhang, we follow the Rivien trace until it merges with a path leading into a village visible from the top of a hill. A cluster of buildings seems to be where the Rivien trace will end.

We cross the hills in silence, then as we approach the entrance to the village, verge off of the path and creep through the long grass.

The centre of the village is visible; the path we’ve been taking cuts a clear line through the village to the middle. And if we’re close enough to see the centre, then the group of people crowded in the square are probably able to see us too. The sound of shouting greets us once we’re close enough to touch the walls of the first building.

I don’t need to go to the Trace to notice the Rivien presence. _They’re taking the village’s taxes in Wynnd’s place._ Anger flares in me. _How dare they? This isn’t their territory! Don’t they have, like, a bunch of islands they can tax?!_

“Let’s go,” Graie mutters beside me.

“What? We have to help these villagers!” I reply incredulously.

He stares at me, wide-eyed. “What are you on about? These taxes are probably nothing worse than what Wynnd wants from them. Driving them out of this one village on this one occasion is going to do nothing about Wynnd’s court! We agreed to check it out, not to try to take on a whole Rivien patrol alone. Have you _seen_ how buff their captain of the guard is? She has muscles where people aren’t supposed to have muscles!”

I try not to huff a laugh and instead grunt, unable to come up with a good enough argument to take on the patrol. “Alright… but I don’t like it.”

“We’ll drive them out with all of Wynnd’s court on our side, but not right now,” Graie promises under his breath and we leave the side of the building, heading back over the hills toward the abandoned dragon den where we left the wagon.

As we begin to lead Blitz and Quicksilver out of the cave and back onto the rolling hills and fields, I see tiny figures in the distance leaving the village, taking the path toward the solstice pavilion. Frustration still burns in me. _It’s not their land to tax! It’s… dishonourable. The villages exchange goods and services for the protection from the court, everyone knows that; if Rivier’s actually driving out the dangers on Wynnd’s land, I’ll eat my boot._

Graie and I continue into the heart of Wynnd’s territory as night falls. The horses aren’t tiring, but I fight a yawn every few minutes. As we distance ourselves from the Thundrian forests, the easy rise and fall of the hills has turned more dramatic, the ridges and swells of the lands jutting up onto the horizon and creating a more mountainous region than the golden and green fields of before.

“Where does this path lead? Shelter?” I ask, yawning again and squinting at the rapidly darkening horizon.

“Based on the map…” He points at where he’s been keeping a record of the landscape and using it to sketch out trajectory into the territory. “I’d say this is likely to be the Wynnder castle.”

That makes me pause.

“The empty Wynnder castle.”

“Yeah,” Graie replies, shielding his eyes against the now-nonexistent sun and peering into the gloomy land. “I don’t think there are any more villages in this part of the territory. I mean, most Wynnder villages thrive on farming and this land’s too rocky for that. I’m pretty sure the next settlement we arrive at’ll be the castle.”

I nod and we continue on the path in silence.

I have to wonder about the Wynnder castle. Has anyone in Thundria’s court seen it? After all, our castle is easily defensible because of its height, I’ve heard the Shodawes castle is cursed—then again, I didn’t see anything that could be described as a curse when we were driving out Braukkin—and Rivier, based on books that may be outdated, don’t have one stationary castle, but instead stay aboard a fleet of galleons at all times. But what does the Wynnd castle have that distinguishes it?

We might be about to find out.

As we descend another steep slope that brings us into the shadow of what could charitably be described as a bit of a cliff, I squint into the darkness, wondering if a sudden flash of silver was my imagination.

But no… as my eyes adjust, I begin to slowly be able to make out more and more features. Arches, balconies, windows, pillars… an enormous set of doors.

“Graie, I think we found it.” I keep my voice soft, though I don’t know why. No one’s here. Still, it feels strangely ethereal, like I might disturb the ghosts if I speak too loudly.

“The castle.” His tone is equally reverent.

The hill we just picked our way down evens out into a pebbly ditch. The base of a cliff. The stone juts up to the sky, blocking out the moon and putting the Wynnder castle in a swath of shadows.

We pick our way over the rocks and find the handle to the doors without too much trouble. Pulling them open, we find a scene of destruction illuminated only by the faint starlight. Tables upended, splinters of wood and jagged pieces of rock have been scattered across what I have to guess used to be the throne room.

It’s too dark to make out much of anything, though. The moonlight won’t be shining into the castle until near morning.

“If only we had some fire,” Graie mumbles, feeling around on the ground cautiously, then yelps with pain. “Ah! Shit, broken glass. Great, fantastic, can’t _wait_ to spend a whole night here.”

“We’re knights now, idiot!” I clap my hands, suddenly gleeful. “I can just produce fire whenever I want!” _Not… like I couldn’t already…_ my mind reminds me. _But I can’t tell anyone that until I figure out why_ that _is and why I didn’t demonstrate._ There’s something wrong with my life-force, but I’m hesitant to remark on it. I’ve had enough to tackle with just convincing the court that I’m not a weak little god-toy.

“Oh yeah! I knew you were good for something!” Graie exclaims, revived, then falters as I lift my hand. “Wait…”

I pause before I summon the lingering heat in the corners of the room. “What is it?”

I don’t need to be able to see in the dark to guess at his expression.

“Graie, I… that only happened because of the battle,” I insist. “I can control it, I promise.”

“I’ll wait outside,” he says cautiously, trying to both spare my feelings and also decrease his risk of being blown up.

_That’s a good idea,_ I think guiltily. I can control it… I hope. It’s just a little unpredictable. But that’s because of the emotional reaction, right? Not because my life-force is… always like that.

Exhaling slowly, I find wood on the ground, the air all around me… and _burn_. When I open my eyes, I yelp and leap backward.

I set... _all_ the wood on fire. The window frames smoulder, the chunks of broken wood glow like fireflies across the throne room, one of the tables has turned into a bonfire.

“Ah, okay, you can come in now!” I call to Graie, quickly trying to extinguish the extra fires quickly and adding them to the-now blazing table.

“A little overboard, but as long as you didn’t blow the walls out, I’d say you’re learning restraint,” Graie teases, but I can hear a little current of worry in his voice. “Come on, don’t burn their castle down!”

“I didn’t!” I protest, my argument cut off by a yawn.

“Let’s just find the knights’ wing and go to bed,” Graie sighs.

We search the castle with a lit log of wood as a torch each and find the beds without too much trouble. There’s a little portrait of a boy on the bedside table I find and I try not to think too much about it. The stink of Shodawa is hard to ignore, but we find sleep quickly enough.

…

The next morning, we set out with the stone guiding our way.

Once we’re far enough from the castle, the Wynnder trace is increasing enough for me to feel confident that we’re headed in the right direction. We’ve made it out of the sharp cliff sides and rocky terrain that marked the heart of Wynnd’s territory and we’re back into the land of rolling fields and grassy hills.

“If the court took this path, I have to assume it leads out of the territory,” Graie reasoned, half to himself as we pause to sit on a couple of boulders so I can secure the bag of carrots that keep tumbling off the wagon. “They probably just found refuge a couple days travel from here to escape Shodawa. And this map is already more detailed than all of our library’s stuff! Oh man, maybe the queen will put me in charge of updating _all_ the maps…”

“You have to have the _weirdest_ fantasies,” I sigh, tightening the rope around the sack and giving Blitz a little pat to get her going again. “Come on. Let’s keep going.”

Graie rolls the map up with altogether too much care and slides it back into his bag gently. We set off again with the wagon rattling alongside us—but the carrots still firmly on—and only pause every ten minutes or so to redirect.

It’s an entire day of travel before we reach the outer border. The landscape gains more shrubs and trees with every step we take. It’s practically a forest when the Wynnder trace lines that mark the border meet our senses.

“There’s the farm,” I comment, pointing a little ways down the edge of the trees, away from where we’re headed, to the Knave’s Moor and the god manor that rules it. “Think we have time to pay them a visit?”

“There’s a village not five minutes from here,” Graie replies doubtfully, “and we have to stop for the night. Maybe we can see them on the way back.”

“With the Wynnder court with us?” I snort. “‘Hey Barrleigh, can we and fifteen of our most homeless and starving friends come stay the night’?”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” Graie chides, flicking my shoulder. “I’m sure they’d be grateful to see old faces. And plus, we’re likely to get less questions from them than the villages around here.”

As we head to the village, a nearby town labelled ‘Zephyr’ on Graie’s increasingly detailed map, I mull over his last statement. _But… wouldn’t the surrounding villages be glad to hear that Wynnd is returning? After all, they’ve had nothing to protect them from maurauding orcs, bandits, dragons, elves, and whatever other nasties the moors produce…_

“Why would the villages question it?” I voice my concerns.

Graie hesitates before replying, ducking out of the way of a grasping branch. “Well… I don’t know. But don’t you think some villages might have started to enjoy having no taxes, and until the next pillaging from orcs or whatever happens, they might think they don’t _need_ the kingdoms at all…?”

“Well that’s stupid.” Must be channelling Duss, I’m usually not so blunt. I _am_ tired though; the slow pace somehow wears me down more than if we were rushing. “They _need_ the kingdom; who’s going to help them when the dragons descend? All their villagers with their kettle life-force?”

Graie holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, they need us, it’s true. I’m just saying, there are idiots everywhere and maybe everyone’s just adjusting to no kingdom to protect them. Again though, that’ll only last until the next big attack.”

It’s almost _more_ annoying when he agrees with me. I want to argue. _Definitely tired,_ I think, running my hand through my hair and sighing. “Let’s just get to Zephyr.”

…

When we set out the next morning, leaving a thoroughly charmed innkeeper in our wake thanks to Graie, the forest seems eager to slow our process as much as possible.

We waste almost half of an hour repacking all our supplies when the wagon wheel catches on a particularly outspoken root and sends the sacks and packs flying. A couple squirrels come to investigate the oats that are meant for our horses.

“Fantastic,” Graie grumbles, piling potatoes back into a bag. “Remind me to wash these when we make camp with the court? It’s muddy as the Blacklands. Eurgh.”

I grunt an agreement and we set off once more, this time with me ahead of the wagon to make sure we slow down adequately should another waist-thick root decide the packs are getting too comfy in the wagon. It’s slow and tiring, but at least the trees provide cover from the sun. Looking back at our tracks in the mud, I silently quiz myself on ways we could hide them.

Four minutes later, I give up when all I can come up with is ‘sprinkle some leaves’ and ‘don’t walk in the mud’. I’m sure there was something else, but all I can remember is Sir Cawle barking orders at me while I tried to squeeze under a flowery bush. The pollen made me sneeze for days.

_Sir Cawle._

Aaaand I’m back to thinking about the treason in the court. Great.

We trek through the forest for hours, speaking little to conserve our throats and by extension, our water. It goes from deciduous to pine, and we’re just getting back to deciduous trees when a sudden, sharp line is cut through the flora.

I switch to the Trace and feel the bitter tang of god magic on my tongue.

“Soulpath,” I rasp, holding up my hand to stop Graie and the horses.

“We can cross this,” Graie says, though I can hear the doubt in his voice.

“Wynnd’s the other side, I know it,” I say grimly, remembering my dream. “The only question is…”

Graie finishes my thought.

“How in the Blacklands do we get the wagon across?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time, Graie!


	4. Chapter 3 - Graie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time for Graie has come...

Chapter 3 - Graie

“I’m telling you, if we just _throw_ the apples—”

“We’re not throwing the damn apples!” Fiyr snaps.

I sigh, throwing my hands up in the air. Hey, at least I’m coming up with ideas; all he seems to be doing is shooting them down. The same way he says the souls would shoot down the apples. Which I _doubt_. 

“Then what do you suggest?” I retort, frowning at the fields across the path, taunting us with their freedom and waving gold stalks of grass.

Fiyr runs his hands through his hair anxiously. “I don’t _know_!”

“Well making yourself bald isn’t going to help,” I point out, and he drops his hands, sighing.

“Alright, alright. What if we crossed normally?” he suggests.

I give him a look that says _Are you the dumbest person alive or is that a joke?_

“No, no, hear me out,” he insists. “Remember the _first_ time we ever crossed a soulpath?”

“On the journey to the Lunar Temple,” I agree.

He nods. “And when Ravne went across?”

I frown, trying to recall the events. I remember Samn getting sliced and Fiyr getting shoved by Tigre… _Oh, right!_ Ravne stopped in his tracks halfway across the path! It was only his concentration on the life-force keeping him alive. The wall of ravens, as I remember. I wince, the horrified face of Ravne when he saw the souls piercing his birds returning to my mind.

“Yeah, I remember,” I finally agree.

Fiyr points at the wagon excitedly. “He was able to stop in the middle of the path and didn’t get hurt ‘cause he kept his concentration!”

I raise my eyebrows.

“ _Soooo_ …?” Fiyr says, gesticulating wildly and obviously waiting for my completion of his thought.

“So you want us to stand in the middle of a soulpath and hope our… what, our concentration keeps us alive?” I demand.

His hands go to his hips and he frowns—though it looks far more like a pout to me—with disappointment at me. “Well… yeah. Ravne did it when we were squires, why shouldn’t we do it as knights?”

“What could go wrong?” I feign enthusiasm.

“Exac—well…” He shrugs, apparently realizing _Quite a lot, actually!_ “What’s the alternative? You want to sit here forever?”

I glance down at the soulpath stretching across the forest and dipping down with the curve of a hill and out of sight. “Why don’t we check if there’s a better spot to cross? Or like, if it curves it and we can find the Wynnder trace again?”

Fiyr shrugs. “Alright. The other one will be our back-up, I guess.”

He sets off in the opposite direction of the hill.

“ _No_ , you cheesecake!” I exclaim. Yes, I’ve taken to calling him that. It could be worse, as far as I’m concerned. There are worse things to compare his density to. “The other way! I thought you were a life-force prodigy! Can’t you feel all the god stink from over there? Feels like ten soulpaths!”

Fiyr pauses then turns to me, eyes wide. “It was… intuition.”

I frown. “Ah, okay, well, let’s go where the soulpaths _aren’t_ now that your intuition is done making us waste ti—”

He shakes his head fiercely. “I had a dream!”

_What in the Blacklands is he on about?_

Fiyr must see my puzzled expression because he sighs. “Listen! I had a dream about the Wynnd court, and they were in a hollow by a giant tangle of soulpaths! I’m willing to bet that the ‘ten soulpaths’ you felt are exactly that! We might not have to cross at all!”

“Hang on, hang on, you had a dream?” I demand. _About Wynnd? But that’s like… prophetic stuff for healers and monarchs. How did… was it just some bad chicken, or did he really get a dream from the Starlaxi? That’s... incredible. And probably not what actually happened._

He waves his hands dismissively. “Look, if they’re not over there, we come back and try that way. But just trust me on this one! I—I’m feeling _pretty_ sure.”

I raise my eyebrows, but we lead Blitz and Quicksilver down toward where the god magic bitterness is increasing. Sure enough, a wider sprawl of soulpaths arc through the air and twist around each other. There’s still only a small stretch of grass between the trees and the soulpath though, nothing that could be described as a hollow. I screw up my face against the feeling of god-magic, brought on by how close we are to it all. I don’t even need to be in the Trace for the bitter, dry taste to curl my tongue.

“Come on! I’m sure they’re only a little ways over here!” Fiyr insists.

I glance around, uncertain.

We’ve been walking for at least half an hour, with the tangle of soulpaths showing no sign of ending or curving in, and definitely no sign of Fiyr’s mysterious hollow.

“Are you—”

“Yes, I’m _sure!_ ” Fiyr retorts. “Look, I have… I have a really good feeling about this.”

“How do we know they didn’t cross the soulpath back there?” I question, opening my bag and debating pulling out the Wynnd stone to check the traces.

Fiyr pauses and folds his arms. “They have an entire court, some of which are presumably elders and children. Do you really think they would’ve risked getting everyone over the path without bothering to check out what lay in either direction?”

I shrug.

We keep walking. The narrow stretch of grass has widened a little, at least giving us enough room to move comfortably without worrying about being crushed to death by an errant soul, but there’s still nothing like what Fiyr described. A few hours later, I decide to pull out the stone.

To my total shock and Fiyr’s gloating delight, the Wynnder trace has strengthened considerably.

“Maybe they really did come this way,” I mutter grudgingly, stuffing it back in my bag.

The edge of the soulpath is forcing us to return closer to the border though, as it curves back in slowly but surely, nudging us closer to Wynnd’s abandoned land with every step. I can’t help but keep faith in Fiyr though. The traces are stronger too.

I decide that Fiyr’s not giving the elders and children enough credit. If they made this whole journey, they’re probably tough as bark.

It’s late afternoon when a building finally greets us in the forest. Unfortunately, it’s a sprawling manor, the owner obvious by the bitter god trace. Fiyr and I stop at the same time.

“Is it worth risking, or should we find somewhere to stay the night?” I ask under my breath, squinting at the manor. Who knows what the gods in there do to trespassers?

Fiyr tugs at his hair. “I—argh, it’s so frustrating to have to stop when we’re so close!”

I hum an assent, but still, I can’t shake the image of being cooked into pastry for the gods. _Mmm, pastry…_ I can almost smell it.

Wait.

I _can_ smell it.

“There’s a village near here! We must be closer to the border than I thought!” I exclaim, pulling out my map. _Another landmark! Excellent!_ “Well then, perfect! We can stop there for the night, get croissants in the morning, save Wynnd, be promoted, have our names recorded in history forever, and so on!”

“Let’s start with shelter,” Fiyr suggests with a grin. “Can you track down the village?”

It’s only about a fifteen minute walk. As we go, I notice a faint but stronger than before Wynnder trace. It’s particularly deliberate, like someone imprinted their trace onto the land. Like… a border trace. But we’re not that near to the Wynnder border anymore… meaning?

_Are they marking their territory now? That doesn’t mean it’s permanent right, they’ll still come back?_ I wonder anxiously. _They’re just preserving court traditions, right?_ This wasn’t a risk I’d anticipated. Of course, the night before we left, I was having all kinds of nightmares about what sorts of nasties we could encounter without being able to call for back-up. But it always ended with us getting to the Wynnder court and them being eternally grateful.

I hadn’t considered that they might not want to come back at all. I pray to the Starlaxi that I’m just being paranoid.

We make it to the village without incident and find a place to stay the night.

Fiyr heads to the stables with Blitz and Quicksilver and I go in to pay and chat with the innkeeper.

“One night, one room, two meals please,” I say pleasantly, giving the scruffy looking, grizzled old man behind the counter a friendly smile.

Expressionless, he reaches out an open hand. I debate high-fiving him but instead just drop a couple of coins into it.

Belatedly, I realize it was my left hand. _Oops._

He glances down at the steel and labradorite life-force ring, then back up at me. The beginnings of a scowl begin to twist his face, but I see his exhale slowly. _Not to calm down, to check the Trace,_ I recognize and wait expectantly.

When his eyes pop back open, the previously suspicious brown has melted into confused surprise.

“Haven’t seen a knight in awhile?” I ask, bundling my smugness away and force an innocent look. He crosses his arms over his barrel chest. _Cut it out with the smugness, he looks like he could turn me into a smear on the floor,_ I berate myself.

“We’ve seen altogether plenty of your sort,” he grunts. “But from that other kingdom. Stinking of pines and rot.”

“Shodawa?” I exclaim, then cough to cover my shock. _Bastards! So not just Rivier then, the half of the kingdoms are getting in on this pillaging act!_ On the list of scummy things to do, shaking down villages without protection for their goods and services while ignoring one of the courts that are somewhere out in the wilderness… I’d hoped King Nait would be less of a little shit after seeing the damage his predecessor did.

He nods.

“They’re no friends of ours,” I assure him, and he must see some trace of sincerity in my eyes because he gives me a slow nod. “Now where’s that room?”

Ignoring my question, he leans over the counter. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare day to drive ‘em off the next time they come ‘round these parts?”

I gulp at the thought of taking on a whole Shodawes raiding party alone. “Ah… we’re actually on a kinda time-sensitive mission.”

He scoffs, but I continue.

“We’re bringing Wynnd back! I swear, by next month… er, _hopefully_ , the whole court will be back and ready to send the Shodawes knights back to their own stinking forest,” I insist.

Approval crosses his face, but he still cocks an eyebrow skeptically. “Time sensitive? They’ve been gone for four years, lad. I imagine a couple more days won’t tip the scales.”

I scratch my head, darting a glance back and forth.

“So? You think you can help us out?” he presses.

I swallow. “Okay, how’s this for an explanation? My buddy and I are barely full knights and there are two of us and probably like four or five of them and we’ll be little bloody blobs by the time the Shodawes knights are done with us.”

To my utter shock, he roars with laughter. “There it is!”

I take a defensive step back, ready to argue my case, but he seems more entertained than mocking.

“We’ll have our real defenders back soon, I trust? Then again, we’ll survive a little longer. But King Tahliorius Star will be getting an earful if he dawdles,” the innkeeper assures me, still chuckling something about _bloody blobs_ and Wynnd being the _real_ kingdom.

I debate arguing about Thundria’s strength but deem it pointless, and I’m relieved when he pulls open a window leading to some kind of back room and shouts out an order for two of the day’s dinner. _Well, great. Uh, guess I failed to impart the power and majesty of Thundria. But at least these villagers still seem loyal to the Wynnders._ It actually makes me feel a bit better; after the almost-encounter with the Riviens, I was getting worried about whether they’d accept Wynnd’s return at all.

When the barrel-chested man turns back to me, it’s with a key. “Mind the carpet. If you have to bring food up to your room, don’t let me catch you spilling it. Eat up and bring us back our court.”

I nod, and he claps me on the shoulder which feels more like a bear swiping at me. _I guess we shouldn’t knock their ‘kettle life-force’ when they could literally knock us into the ground…_

When Fiyr re-enters and meets me at a table tucked away from the main doors with the bowls of chili, he glances up at the innkeeper and then back at me with an amused expression.

“So? Did he offer us a discount?”

I frown at him. “Eat your chili. I’ll have you know my charm works on nine out of ten local innkeepers.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I th—”

“Just eat the damn chili.”

…

We set out early the next morning. The innkeeper doesn’t return my wave. Once we’re clear of his line of sight, I clutch my heart theatrically, making Fiyr snort.

Blitz and Quicksilver follow us back to the edge of the manor’s grounds. We stop a generous distance away.

“Gods,” Fiyr says, almost inaudibly, returning to me and the horses’ spot in the trees. “Let’s get far around.”

I nod once and we skirt the manor, staying well within the cover of the bushes. I see what he was talking about when we have to leave the trees, far on the other side of the estate’s entrance. A gigantic man stands at the edge of the doors to the manor, his arms folded like he’s on sentry duty. He has no obvious weapons, but from what I’ve heard of god-magic, they’d just get in his way.

“You okay?” I venture uncertainly, glancing at Fiyr. I don’t know exactly how he feels about seeing the people that used to lord over him.

“Those weren’t _my_ gods,” he replies, scanning the land ahead of us. “Besides. That was ages ago.”

I give a half-hearted shrug and follow him out into the fields. We make much more progress on the flat land the borders the manor, but I’m still glancing furtively over my shoulder every minute or two to make sure no god is coming to chase us down.

Fiyr inhales sharply and freezes, almost making me crash into his immobile form.

“Oi!” I mutter, righting myself, then peering over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. “Oh, blessed Starlaxi, is that them?”

Where the woods end, instead of the golden flatlands that have graced us for the past ten minutes, the ground cuts away like a giant spoon cut a swath of earth-pudding out of the land. _Mm, pudding…_

“The hollow!” Fiyr exclaims. Before I can warn him that it might be dangerous, he’s darting down the path, picking his way over the shifting earth and down into the ditch.

The hollow stretches over to where the twisting soulpaths begin. But there’s a hole in the earth wall below the soulpaths… _A tunnel?_ I wonder, but I don’t have much time because Fiyr is dashing toward it.

“It might be dangerous!” I protest, but he’s halfway across the ditch when he realizes that he probably shouldn’t leave the wagons.

“Sorry!” he puffs, out of breath from running back over.

“Let’s take them to the other side, away from the manor,” I suggest, pointing.

“Good plan.”

Blitz and Quicksilver resign themselves to being tugged down the slope carefully with Fiyr hanging onto the back of the wagon to try to stop it from rolling faster than the horses and running them over. We lead them across the gravelly ditch to where the ground begins to slope up again, grass peeking out between the pebbles, and I tie a lead around a suitably sized boulder.

“Let’s go save a court!” Fiyr exclaims, and is off dashing toward the entrance of the cave again before I get a word in.

_Blessed Starlaxi._

I hurry after him, deciding it’s probably not a good idea to throw him into the tunnels with potentially hostile knights alone. We make it across the ditch and to the jagged cliffside where the entrance to the cave casts a dark shadow in the otherwise light, pebbly stretch of land before I have second thoughts.

“Let’s go!” I jerk my thumb toward the entrance but Fiyr has suddenly paused, checking the Trace.

“Fresh Wynnder trace,” he observes. “A patrol probably came this way not long ago. We should be careful.”

I nod, and we plod into the cave at a more subdued pace. I notice immediately that despite it seeming naturally occurring, the Wynnder court has decked the walls with torches and cleared the bigger rocks to the side of the cave.

The first tunnel stretches far, so far that we end up under the soulpath if the glass-tinkling sound is anything to go by. And the sound isn’t all; the walls and roof are being taken over by a kind of thick white crystal growing in clumps. _God corruption,_ I think, peering at the crystals as we walk.

A moment or two later, we arrive at a fork in the path.

“Which way are we supposed to go?” I ask.

“I’ll check the Trace,” Fiyr nervously offers, then a moment later, says, “Ah, I’m not sure. It’s strong both ways. I don’t know exactly where they are, but we can-”

“Stay right there,” someone growls behind us.

My hand goes immediately to the hilt of _Graystripe_ , but I’m hoping against hope that we’ve finally found the Wynnder knights. _We can’t be fighting them._ I’m too exhausted to manage anything beyond a puff of ash if it came to it, anyway. I see a couple sparks begin to fly from Fiyr’s fingers, but he clenches them in a fist and they disappear.

We turn away from the fork to come face to face with a dirty, ragged group of unquestionably court-born knights. Despite the grime and rips on their clothes, their stiff posture and scabbards swinging on their belts are undeniable. _No way are these just a bunch of mercs._

“I am Fiyr Harte of Thundria and we’ve come to bring you back.” Of course, Fiyr’s already introducing himself, dipping his head deferentially to the leader of the group, a tall thin man with streaked brown hair.

“So one of the other kingdoms decided it was time to do something,” a shorter man behind the leader of the patrol, with shoulders like tree-trunks and spiked brown hair remarks with a throaty chuckle.

“Well, we’d better bring ‘em to the king,” the first man sighs, and steps forward to lay a hand on Fiyr’s shoulder and start steering him down the left tunnel. That leaves me to be escorted by mister ‘I could probably pick up the Thundrian trees with my bare hands’ over here. _Fantastic._ I dart a nervous look at my escort-captor. _This isn’t really how I planned this going. But hopefully King Tahliorius is happier to see us._

The second tunnel is much like the first; corrupted by crystals and humid, the creeping darkness kept back by torches firmly bolted to the stone. Fiyr and I exchange glances as we march through the tunnels. _It must be really weird for Wynnders to be underground; I guess it would be strange for us too, but Wynnd’s all about the open sky and not being confined. I can only imagine what the last four years have been like._

“Sirs Ayer, Kelaw, and Newskar!” Fiyr’s tall, reedy escort calls into the room we’re approaching.

“Enter!” another man’s voice calls hoarsely from within. _Is that the king?_

We emerge from the tunnel into another seemingly natural room, wide and circular with an arching roof of dirty stone and a tall man standing at the far side, his back turned to us. He appears to be inspecting the veritable wall of corruption that has taken over half of this room.

“We found intruders in the tunnel, Your Majesty!” the third knight, a guy that can’t be older than Fiyr or me exclaims, sweeping into a bow.

“Intruders? Who would—” The man I now recognize as King Tahliorius Star of Wynnd turns to see who they’ve brought.

His remark is immediately cut off when his gaze lands on us. Or more precisely, Fiyr. It’s like all the wind’s been knocked out of him. The guarded expression melts away into naked confusion, hope, and pain warring in his eyes.

“Impossible. Who are you?” he croaks.

Fiyr bows, copying the other knight. “I am Sir Fiyr Harte of Thundria-”

“Why are you here?” the king rasps, seeming to collect himself a little.

_Well_ that _was weird,_ I think, puzzled, but step forward nonetheless. “We’re on a mission from Queen Bluelianna Star herself to aid you in your return to your rightful place.”

Theking folds his arms, an expression of deep thought lining his face. The young knight spins to stare at us and demands, “Really? But what about-”

King Tahliorius silences him with a hand.

“Braukkiniaum was driven out by Thundria with the help of Shodawes dissenters,” Fiyr reveals, pride evident in his voice. “Your home is safe. Er, that is… mostly.”

_Not for Rivier and Shodawa trying._

“Then we can return,” the king says slowly, almost disbelievingly. “Wynnd will return.”

“Great! When can we go?” Fiyr demands, revived instantly.

The Wynnder king gives him another confused, pained look. “We will go as soon as possible. Have you brought any medicine, by any chance? We have a very sick child.”

“Yes! We have a wagon full of food and supplies,” Fiyr tells him eagerly, turning on his heel as though to lead the king to it, but immediately crashes into one of the knights. “Er, excuse me—”

“How do we know they can be trusted?” the leader of the patrol that found us demands, ignoring Fiyr. “They are Thundrian. What reason do they have to bring Wynnd back? Why do they not ransack our territory and thank the Starlaxi for letting us go?”

King Tahliorius sighs heavily. I get the impression that this is something he does frequently. He moves forward, closing the distance between us and him quickly. “Tuoren, I trust them. Do they mean to ambush us, and for what? To steal our rags? Abduct our dying children? Pillage our dwindling food? They have no reason to attack. Has it been so long that you have forsaken the possibility of their honour?”

“They could have been honorable four years ago,” Tuoren snaps, “and they turned their backs on us instead. Leaving our children to die. Leaving our kingdom to waste away, to be laid siege to by orcs and dragons and all manner of beasts. Why now?”

I debate cutting in. Fiyr beats me to it.

“Because Braukkiniaum is _gone!_ Your territory is safe! For the time being; Shodawa and Rivier have been eyeing it and I’m certain all those _beasts_ won’t stay away from your helpless villages for long!” Fiyr snaps, getting pretty rowdy considering we’re surrounded by maybe-enemies and trying to convince them of our peacefulness. I shift uncomfortably, wondering if I should cut in, but Fiyr soldiers on. “You _have_ to return.”

Tuoren looks seconds away from skewering Fiyr and calling it a day when King Tahliorius puts up another quelling hand.

“Fiyr of Thundria,” he says slowly, hesitance writ plainly on his face, “do you... know of a man named Jake?”  
I raise an eyebrow and turn to Fiyr, waiting for his perplexed expression. Instead, his pale eyebrows flicker upwards in confused surprise. “How—that was my father’s name. Did you know him?”

The king swallows hard, but doesn’t elaborate. He turns to Tuoren.

“I trust them. Lead us to this wagon.”

I give Fiyr a puzzled look. He shakes his head, seeming just as lost as I am. _Well, if it gets them to trust us._ Still though, there’s something this king isn’t telling us.

…

Once we’ve sufficiently unloaded the packs of food and the Wynnders have divvied it up amongst themselves despite our caution that it’s going to have to last for another week, almost, probably more since a whole court will travel slower than two knights, we prepare to set out.

The excitement of our arrival has spread to the whole court after we explained that we were there to bring them back. I think they’ve just been waiting for someone to bring the news of Braukkiniaum’s exile, and here we are.

Their healer, Med Barrik Feas stands alongside Lady Ashra Fote, a lady with her son seated beside her and a thousand yard stare, her dark gaze haunted. I can only guess at what she’s been through.

“Both Marrani and Georse can’t make the journey on foot,” the wiry, dark-haired man I recognize under a layer of dirt to be Daede Futt, Wynnd’s captain of the guard, says pensively. “We don’t have space for both in the wagon.”

“Could he sit on her lap?” the king suggests, but Sir Futt shakes his head.

“Not happening. He’s likely to hit his head or fall out or something. Sirs Ayer, Kelaw, and Newskar all have the food and supplies to carry, and you’re an elder, so we’re not saddling you-”

“Hey!” the king protests, but Sir Futt raises an eyebrow and the king’s argument falls away with a huff. “Well, you’re not carrying him either.”

“I can always put an extra spring in my step,” Sir Futt argues with a chuckle that is shared by the king, the origin of which I can only guess at, but shrugs and his gaze drifts over to Fiyr and I. “Do we make the foreigners carry the kid?”

“It’s for the good of the court,” the king agrees. “Healthy knights, they’ll manage.”

“Fiyr, you’re on kid-carrying duty,” I mutter to him. He looks up abruptly, giving King Tahliorius a wide-eyed stare, then hurrying over to where a small boy with bristly brown hair is standing, gripping the hand of whom I assume to be Lady Marrani, his mother.

“I’m gonna carry you, okay? You can walk a bit too, but it’s a long journey,” Fiyr tells the kid. “And you’ll be okay in the wagon, m’lady?”

“Yes, thank you,” she says, though her polite tone is belied by how she sizes up Fiyr suspiciously. I stifle a snicker. Gangly, pale, and perpetually on the verge of a spontaneous combustion, Fiyr isn’t exactly the guy I would be the first to entrust the care of my children to, but he should at least be able to carry the boy for a few hours.

I watch with a great deal of amusement as Georse clambers onto him nervously. _Poor kid. Having to give up your centre of balance to that carrot on stilts can’t exactly be calming._

“Let’s get back to our territory!” Sir Futt shouts out to the ragged group.

“Yeah!” the young knight, who I’ve learned is named Owen Newskar, cheers in response. _At least some of them still have a bit of optimism left._

We set off with relative confidence, but as the minutes of travel drag on into hours, everyone’s enthusiasm to return to their territory seems to wane. At least the Wynnders know the territory well and we make far better time than we did when Fiyr and I were fumbling around in the trees just yesterday.

The sun is dipping below the treetops when we begin to exit the forest. We had to make an arc around to avoid the manor, and we’ve ended up farther from the Wynnder territory than was strictly necessary.

About five minutes ago, the skies had opened and rain began to pour down, so it’s doubly unpleasant to be slogging through the muddy terrain with heavy bags of supplies.

Everyone seems to be tiring and I hear the king and his captain debating a place to stop. I’m glad we’re in more familiar territory. The strange forest that housed all those soulpaths is just an unpleasant memory. Looking around at the land we’ve reached I realize… _Very familiar territory indeed…_

“Fiyr!” I hiss, beckoning him over. Georse has glued himself to his side, even when he’s not carrying him, so I give Fiyr an amused look.

“Yeah, what?”

“We’re like ten minutes from Knave’s Moor!” I exclaim, fighting to be heard over the downpour, pointing at the spruce that’s growing almost horizontal with the ground. “Look!”

He follows my gaze, and his eyes widen. “Blessed Starlaxi!”

I wipe rain off my brow. “I’m going to suggest to the king that we stop at the barn! It would be a perfect place to stay the night, huh?”

I hurry to the front of the group to where Sir Futt and King Tahliorius stand, conversing, and awkwardly clear my throat.

“Yes, Gary?” the king greets me.

“It’s _Graie_ ,” I correct, then shake my head, sending droplets in all directions. “Never mind that. We have a friend, an outlander, who lives in a barn maybe five minutes’ travel from here. Very easy going guy, friendly, and more importantly, lives in a barn big enough to provide shelter to everyone here. Fiyr and I can take you.”

Sir Futt gives me a skeptical look, totally sodden, his black hair plastered to his forehead, but the king’s eyebrows raise hopefully. “Really? That sounds perfect. And your friend really wouldn’t mind our court spending the night?”

“Hopefully not!” I declare, clapping my hands. “Just follow us!”

The king turns, getting his court’s attention despite the heavy rain, and shouts, “We will be resting in a barn that is only a short distance away! Everyone just hold on. Thank you all for your patience and stamina! We will be home soon.”

The whole group starts off again, stumbling through the mud and shielding their eyes from the pouring rain. I manage to misstep and get a bootful of mud, much to the amusement of Georse. Hey, at least he isn’t wailing. If I have any experience with five-year-olds, it’s that they don’t take well to long periods of ‘doing nothing time’.

We plod through the sheets of rain and increasingly boggy terrain for another year, at least, then finally, I see the outline of the barn, blurred by the violent wrath of the Starlaxi in rain-form.

“There it is,” I croak, then summon the last of my lung-power and yell, my voice fighting the deafening rain to be heard, “I see the barn!”

Fiyr whoops, apparently undeterred by the day’s travel, and the whole court manages a quicker pace to close the distance between us and shelter faster.

The moment we’re close enough, Fiyr and I split off to knock on the door of the small house adjoined to the barn. _Pleeeaaaase Ravne, I swear to the Starlaxi, if you’re already tucked up cozy in bed I’m going to kick your ass into next year._

We knock on the door, having to really bash it just to be heard over the rain, and in a few moments that feel more like centuries, it creaks open.

“What in the name of—”

Ravne’s perplexed exclamation is cut off by Fiyr’s shocked yelp.

“He _does_ have a tan!”


	5. Chapter 4 - Graie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Minor Character Death time!

Chapter 4 - Graie

“What in the bloody Blacklands are you two doing here?” Ravne demands, amazement and shock plain on his face. “In the middle of a storm, too!”

“It’s a really long story and I’d rather do it while _not_ freezing my nuts off,” I explain conversationally, and Ravne slaps his forehead.

“Yes, of course! Come in, come in!” he exclaims, then pauses when he sees our faces. “Er, is it _just_ you two or did—great blessed Starlaxi above, who are all those people?”

Before either of us have a chance to even begin to explain, King Tahliorius has appeared behind us and reaches out one arm to shake Ravne’s hand.

“I am King Tahliorius Star of the Wynnd court, and I’m requesting shelter for my kingdom.”

Ravne stares at him, then nods slowly. “Um. Yep. Okay. So this is... happening.”

“Your friends Sir Harte and Sir Sterrip said that we might find refuge in your barn. Just for the night, of course, but my court is weary and we need a place,” the king explains.

Still looking amazed, Ravne’s gaze flicks from mine, then back to the King of Wynnd’s, then back to Fiyr and me. I note that his hair is growing back and has already made it back down to his shoulders.

“Okay, give me a second,” Ravne tells the king, then disappears back into the house. I can hear Barrleigh’s muffled voice from inside, then Ravne reappears. “Great! I’ll show you guys to the barn. Blessed Starlaxi, you all look half-drowned.”

“It’s been a rough day,” Fiyr mutters and we follow him around the side of the house and toward the much larger wooden doors of the barn.

“It’s been a rough four years,” King Tahliorius replies wryly as the Wynnder court follows us to the doors and Ravne ushers us into the barn.

It smells strongly of hay— _nothing grosser though_ , I think, relieved that Barrleigh is more into plants than animals—but it’s dry, and that’s a gift from the Starlaxi right now. The whole court of Wynnd clusters in the room, and there’s enough room that we even get the wagon in safely.

“No beds, but I can bring some spare blankets for the kids,” Ravne offers.

“You’re a blessing, son,” the king says, the relief in his voice at finally having somewhere for his court to stay that isn’t full of god-corruption or Shodawes knights evident. “Wynnd will compensate you for the kindness you have shown us tenfold.”

Ravne laughs nervously. “Ah… that’s probably not necessary. Just don’t, y’know, knock the barn down. Also, the far side in the left corner’s pretty leaky, so stay out of there if you can manage. You’ll probably be okay sleeping on the hay, but I really don’t know if we have enough food for—”

“We brought our own,” Fiyr assures him, and I hoist my bag full of apples for effect. “Just the hay and the blankets is more than we expected.”

“I expect all the Thundrian gossip, though,” Ravne replies seriously.

“Are you an outlander?” It’s Owen Newskar, coming up beside his king to study Ravne intently. “You look kind of familiar.”

_He can’t know that Ravne’s alive… what if he gave it away at the Gathering?_ Before I can do more than choke like a dying fish, Ravne replies.

“Yeah, I came to the barn a month or so ago. I’m not much for travelling, so it’s been a welcome change.”

I marvel at the change from the jumpy kid that slept with a dagger on his bedside table in only a month. _Seems like yesterday he was cowering with fear every time someone spoke to him. Now he lies. Well, I guess that’s… a change._

“I should probably get Barrleigh, actually. He’s the outlander that properly lives here and owns the barn and everything,” Ravne tells Owen, then hurries off to the door that presumably connects the barn to the house.

Owen and Sir Futt seem none the wiser, but from the look the king has, it seems he knows there’s a little more to Ravne’s story than what we’re giving up.

“You’re both certain he’s to be trusted?” the king asks. His tone isn’t accusatory, but he has a thoughtful tilt to his head as his gaze follows Ravne.

“Oh yes,” Fiyr assures him. “We—we rescued him from ah, some orcs that were rampaging around in his town and he decided… to go to this barn.”

Before I can jump in to try to save Fiyr from himself, King Tahliorius regards him with the same amused, sad look. “He was just as bad at lying. Maybe worse. But if you trust this outlander, I will put my faith in you. The Starlaxi knows we need one peaceful night.”

I nod, hardly understanding half of what he’s saying, casting my gaze over the weary, ragged bunch that are settling into the hay. Ashra clutches her son tightly to her chest, even as he squirms, trying to get down to play with Georse.

Ravne’s returned with Barrleigh. I can’t help a breath when I see the outlander; he’s very… _steadying_ , I guess. Everything seems like it might go okay when he’s here. _No wonder he and Ravne seemed to hit it off so fast._ The Starlaxi knows Ravne needs some comfort in his life. I feel a dull ache that I’ve tried to bury unsuccessfully a thousand times that it wasn’t me to provide it.

When he comes over, already shaking King Tahliorius’s hand enthusiastically, Fiyr looks anxiously over his shoulder for Ravne. _It will be nice to catch up. Even if it’s only been a few weeks… it’s hard not to see him every day._

Barrleigh leaves the king’s side and waves us over to the ladder up to the loft of the barn.

“There’s more dry hay up here, if we need it,” he explains, motioning to the stacks piled against the side. “Probably not a good idea for everyone to come up though, he’s rickety enough when it’s just me.” He gives it a pat with a half-laugh.

“Ravne?” I blurt puzzled.

He gives me a weird look. “The _barn_.”

“How _is_ Ravne though?” Fiyr interjects. “Settling in well, or what?”

“Thanks for sending him to me, it’s good to have more help in the fields,” Barrleigh says, shrugging. “He’s learning fast.”

I squint at him. _And…?_ “But does he like it here?”

“Why’nt you ask him yourself?” he deflects. “Hey! Ravne! Catch up with your castle pals, would you? Get ‘em out of my hair.”

Exchanging a glance with Fiyr, we allow ourselves to be hurried out the doors of the barn to stand under a little outcropping of wood with Ravne.

“What’s with him?” Fiyr asks, more puzzled than annoyed.

“Not used to so many people, I think,” Ravne explains, glancing back at the barn doors sheepishly. “If I’d known you all were coming, I could’ve…”

“We wouldn’t have been able to warn you; _we_ didn’t know we were coming,” Fiyr points out. “Next time we’ll send a letter or something. Thanks for the hospitality, though. What happened when we left you? Did you have to bribe him, or what?”

“ _No_ ,” Ravne exclaims. “Of course not. He’s used to having outlanders and whoever just passing through occasionally, so I don’t think it was too strange for him to just think of it as an extended-stay guest.”

I scratch my head. “So he doesn’t mind you? You’re happy here?”

“Better than fearing for my life,” he replies, his mouth twisting in a grimace. “He minds me less than Sir Cawle did. Well, I think he might actually like having me around. Can’t be much fun living alone. But what did you tell the court?”

“Said you disappeared on Shodawes territory and we found your body or something,” Fiyr replies, shrugging. “No one pried.”

Ravne nods grimly, then his face brightens. “Well, I was promised some Thundrian gossip. Has Duss improved?”

“Well, I believe _Fiyr_ here promised to Unite with him if you ended up having a tan after all, so perhaps the United life will temper him a little,” I tease.

Ravne grins, giving Fiyr a pat on the back. “Duss, eh? Always figured it’d be Samn.”

“It is _no one!_ ” he squawks, turning the same colour as his hair.

“What about him though?” Ravne asks, turning back to me. “Doing well?”

“Far as I can tell,” I shrug. “You should ask _Fiyr_.”

“You should _shut up_ ,” Fiyr snaps, elbowing me.

Ravne laughs as I pretend to collapse like a bag of air and wheeze, “Oh come on, you two are practically always either five minutes from beating the shit out of each other or public indecency. Surely he’s told you _something_ about himself.”

That gets a laugh out of Ravne, though I’m not certain why. “He’s always been good at keeping secrets, huh?”

Before I can reply, probably to further bully Fiyr, out of the corner of my eye, I see the barn door creak open the tiniest bit. “Got company,” I inform the other two under my breath. _Can’t let anything about the court slip in front of Wynnders._

“And that’s why it’s always best to cook the squires rather than roasting them,” Ravne announces. “When you can catch them, of course.”

Fiyr and I applaud.

“You don’t scare us!” a peep comes from inside the barn.

“Shut up, Whytt!” someone else snaps.

“You can come out now, we know you’re there,” Fiyr calls.

Three Wynnder squires extract themselves from their hiding place behind the barn door. Despite Ravne’s relaxed posture, the alertness of his gaze tells me he’s waiting to see exactly how much they heard. I mentally review our conversation. _Nothing incriminating, surely?_

“Why are Thundrian knights friends with outlanders?” One little squirt, a dark-eyed, brown haired kid that looks altogether too much like Duss to _not_ be an asshole, scowls.

“Knights?” Ravne echoes, his gaze flitting to ours with surprise. “Yeah, what’d that king say your names were?”

_Of course! He missed our ceremony!_ I can’t help a stab of sadness. As a kid, I’d never imagined that I wouldn’t be knighted alongside him. _And I guess he’s Ravne forever._

“You’re looking at Sir Fiyr Harte and Sir Graie Sterrip,” Fiyr brags, crossing his arms proudly.

Ravne’s eyebrows raise. I quash the impulse to ask him what he thinks his knighted name would have been. _Remember the squires._

“But why do you talk to him!?” the nasally kid from before insists.

_Boy, he’s a right little shit, isn’t he? Isn’t it past his bedtime?_

“A good knight makes friends where he can,” Fiyr says wisely, patting the kid’s head patronizingly. I stifle a snicker. _Well played._

“You sound like an elder,” Ravne teases.

One of the kid sticks his tongue out at Ravne when he thinks the outlander isn’t looking. I bop the boy on the head.

“Oi, if it weren’t for him you’d be sleeping in the mud with the lizards tonight,” I tell him, then turn his shoulders back toward the barn doors. “Off to bed with you.”

The kids slip back into the barn, the Duss-looking one giving Ravne a last impolite stare before heading back in. Ravne juts his jaw out and shakes his fist.

“You rascally youngsters!”

“Now who’s the elder?” Fiyr elbows him too.

“Oh blessed Starlaxi, you’re so boney!” Ravne yelps. “Those elbows are like pins! You need Barrleigh to fatten you up. His vegetable pies…”

He pats his belly with a blissful expression.

“Is this place better than Thundria?” I ask, probably more pointedly than necessary, but it’s hard not to be a little irritable that Ravne seems to have forgotten the court entirely.

He shrugs. “Better than getting my throat cut in the night.”

“But what about your life-force?” I press in a low tone. “You’ll never reach the full extent of your power.”

In response, he raises his right hand. The stone band with purple and black seaglass is gone. _He got rid of his life-force ring? No! Why would he do that?_ He’s still wearing his feather pendant, but it doesn’t have the same significance.

“You- you destroyed it?” Fiyr echoes my thoughts, amazement evident on his face. “But…”

“I don’t need it,” Ravne replies. “I mean, you know that the squire rings are for show anyway, right? The knights’ rings are the ones that _actually_ help your connection to the Starlaxi? Besides. What use do I have for summoning ravens on a farm?”

I gape, nonplussed by the idea of just giving up on life-force. Even with my own life-force not figuring much into my interests and being a bit of a sore point—I mean, _ash_? Really? _What in the Blacklands am I supposed to use that for?_ —I couldn’t imagine just _not…_

“Do you still have Indigo?” I croak.

“Of course, but again, there are a lot of better instruments for working in the fields than a sword,” Ravne laughs, seeming so unconcerned by it. “I mostly keep it under my bed.”

I shake my head, staring.

“I’ll take first watch, Graie. You look like you need sleep,” Fiyr points out.

“And close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” Ravne teases, bundling me back through the barn doors.

In the barn, surrounded by Wynnders all snoring on hay, I can’t fall asleep. Everytime I close my eyes, I see Ravne laughing, unconcerned, teasing Fiyr, shrugging— _Everything has changed,_ I think, rolling onto my back and staring up into the gloom, letting the thrum of the rain become a soothing background to my thoughts. _But I’m glad. He seems happy, at least._ I don’t fall asleep easily, though.

…

I wake up after my watch when someone screams, practically in my ear.

“Wha—what in the Blacklands?!” I croak, immediately sitting up and blinking groggily. It sounded like an old man. _Please, if the Shodawes knights are picking off the elders…_

“Med Feas! What is it?” It’s Daede Futt, scrambling over the hay toward the man next to me. “A vision?”

The old man—who I now know is the Wynnder healer - sits up, panting, and scrubs his face with his hands. “Blessed Starlaxi… I…”

He goes limp and Sir Futt grabs his shoulders.

“What is it?”

The words that emerge from his mouth are strangled, garbled, and nonsensical, but spoken with such precision that I can’t help wondering if it makes sense to him. “ _Cerul roșu al dimineții aduce o moarte inutilă_.”

But from Daede Futt’s reaction, I have to assume it means something to Wynnders. _Could it have been Old Wynnder? Moarte inutilă…_ _those sound kinda like the Old Thundrian words for ‘death’ and ‘useless’. An omen, then? Doesn’t exactly sound… good. A ‘useless death’? Jeez._

As Daede helps up the healer, I notice that light’s filtering in through the gaps in the wooden beams of the barn. _Morning already. More journeying, hooray._ But I’d take journeying over whatever the old healer was talking about. The thought of a ‘useless death’ settles in my stomach like a stone.

The rest of the court is waking, so I go out to get Fiyr from his last watch. Just as I’m about to push the barn door open, someone on the outside pulls it open.

“Already time to go?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“Sorry, buddy. I’ll carry Georse today; maybe you can ride in the wagon,” I suggest, though the man that appeared to just have a Starlaxi-gifted fit on hay might get priority in this case.

When we re-enter the barn, the news of the omen seems to have spread, and the Wynnder court is clustered in groups and muttering nervously. King Tahliorius has awoken and is speaking in low, urgent tones with Med Feas and Sir Futt by the far side of the barn.

I take an uncertain step toward them, wondering if we should ask them if we’re going to continue on toward Wynnd’s territory in spite of the warning, but before I can make up my mind, King Tahliorius whirls around and marches to the entrance of the barn like he doesn’t even see me.

“Court of Wynnd! We depart in ten minutes! Pack up everything, share the load! Ashra, Egell, Marrani, and Barrik will ride in the wagon again today, and hopefully, we’ll be back in our castle by nightfall!” the king calls out.

The pack-up is frenzied and in the chaos, I knock on the door that connects Barrleigh’s house to the barn. _I want to at least say goodbye before he forgets about me entirely…_

“Yeah?” Barrleigh pulls the door open, leaning on the door frame with a bit of a guarded look.

“Wanted to say goodbye to Ravne,” I tell him flatly, resisting the impulse to cross my arms equally defensively.

He gives me a long look, but it’s void of any aggression, just a searching stare. After a moment, he shrugs. “Yeah, sure thing. Ravne!”

He appears behind Barrleigh a moment later.

“Hey, Graie. Wynnd’s heading out, then? I can walk you guys to the edge of the field,” Ravne offers and Barrleigh peels himself off the edge of the doorframe and gives me a perplexing nod.

As I promised Fiyr, I hoist Georse onto my back, his arms locked around my throat in something of a chokehold. I wheeze. _Kid’s like a ton of bricks. Blessed Starlaxi, he didn’t_ look _like he was made of steel._

“Alright up there?” I croak.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Georse replies timidly, shifting on my back. I narrowly avoid dropping him on to the dirt, quickly grabbing under his knees tighter to stop him from sliding right off. _A moment of appreciation for Fiyr’s ability not to drop this child despite his own balance being comparable to a baby Ser._

Ravne, as promised, walks us to the edge of the field, time that passes all too quickly. I’d almost fooled myself into thinking that things were back to normal when suddenly, it’s time for him to leave us again. Just like the first time I had to say goodbye, everything that I’ve been desperate to say for the last day, words that have been pushed back and withheld for fear of exposing him, they all leave me with just a strange aching sadness.

“Well, I guess that’s it then,” Fiyr voices it awkwardly. “We’ll miss you. Again.”

Ravne laughs, though I can’t imagine why, and shakes his hand. “You’ll be back, mark my words. I know it’s strange. I miss you guys too, but it’s for the best. Just deal with Sir Cawle, become captain, and Unite with Samn, would you? For me?”

I mimic the half-forced laughter. “Trust me, he’ll be doing it one way or another. But we’ll visit every chance we get. When Duss is crowned king, we’ll escort him to the Lunar Temple and visit you on the way.”

“Oh, blessed Starlaxi, don’t even joke about that,” Fiyr groans, and we’re back to half-normal with a shared laugh.

“I’d better get back to the farm, though, Barrleigh starts work _unbelievably_ early. Like, I thought Sir Hartef was hard on us,” Ravne chuckles, but I have a hard time swallowing.

_Everything is different. Ravne is gone from the court, Sir Hartef is dead—Graie Sterrip, don’t you dare cry._ I force a swallow and beg for the stinging in my nose to be banished.

“Yeah,” Fiyr mumbles wistfully, glancing up like he can make the Starlaxi appear above us. _But they don’t appear to regular knights. They don’t come to our dreams and promise us that they’re okay and happy in the Starlaxi. We just hope and believe and sometimes it isn’t fair._

“We should keep going,” I manage, hugging Ravne quickly and releasing him just as fast. “Thanks for the shelter and company.”

“Our barn doors are open any time,” Ravne jokes, but I’m nothing if not familiar with a deflection when I see one. _This isn’t easy for him either._

But I’ve resolved not to dwell on it. And certainly, I’ve broken that promise about ten times a day, but nobody’s perfect. “We have a court to reinstate. C’mon, Fiyr.”

Ravne waves as we hurry to catch up to the rest of the court. I see Georse stumble, clutching Owen Newskar’s hand and feel a pang of guilt.

“He seems happy,” Fiyr observes out loud, and after a pause, adds, “I’m glad.”

“Me too,” I agree, but my mind is wandering away from Ravne and his perfect farm life and over to the healer’s grim warning. _What was it? The pointless death thing? Not one of the Wynnders, surely? Come on, blessed Starlaxi, they’ve been through enough._

It’s late afternoon when we finally cross the stale Wynnder trace marking the border and onto the plains that are obviously a welcome sight to the exhausted Wynnders. The rise and dip of the hills that Fiyr and I crossed not three days ago make me sigh with relief as well. I’ll be back in Thundria by the end of tomorrow, surely.

King Tahliorius, from the head of the crowd, calls out an order to halt the court.

Fiyr and I exchange puzzled glances and I check the Trace to make sure we’re not about to be thrown into combat. Nope, just Wynnder trace and some hints of Shodawes and Rivien, though nothing strong enough to indicate the presence of a hostile patrol.

The travelling court parts to let their king through, who is heading toward us.

“Your Majesty,” Fiyr greets him with an obvious note of confusion in his voice. We’re almost there; now hardly seems like the time to stop and have a chat!

“Your aid to the court of Wynnd has been deeply appreciated and will be paid back however we can in the future, but now that we have returned to our own territory, it’s time for us to part once more,” the king declares ceremoniously, then gives Fiyr a sad smile. “I have heard it is not the way of the gods to allow their… employees… to raise their children. If you didn’t know Jake, then I’m truly sorry for that, but know that your father was a great man and that knowing him was an honour.”

Fiyr doesn’t quite seem to know what to say to that. He gives the older man an awkward nod. “Th—thank you.”

I can’t help staring. _What bizarre turn of events led to the king of Wynnd meeting Fiyr’s god-toy father?_ I suppose that’s a story for another day, although the suspicion that I’ll never find out irritates me.

“You’ll always have a friend in the Wynnder kingdom,” King Tahliorius promises, clapping him on the back. “I’ll send Sir Futt and Sir Newskar to escort you back to Thundria. Thank you both for all you’ve done for my kingdom.”

I bow to the king as Owen and the Wynnder captain hurry over to us with Blitz and Quicksilver in tow. _High praise. Not every day the king of another kingdom says this stuff. Blessed Starlaxi._ I can’t help a smirk at the thought of what Duss and Samn’s reactions would be.

Despite the close call with Ravne’s true identity, Owen Newskar proves himself rather jovial and easy-going as we begin the trip back to Thundria once Fiyr’s able to extract himself from Georse’s hugs. Fiyr and I choose not to mount Blitz and Quicksilver for the sake of literally being on an even footing.

“And so I explained that I could show her, but only one,” Sir Newskar finishes the story with a chuckle.

Sir Futt guffaws altogether too hard considering the strange story Owen’s spun, but I guess Wynnders have a different sense of humour. Fiyr and I exchange amused glances.

“Trust me, Graie’s plenty familiar with frustrating limitations on life-force,” Fiyr replies. “Only being able to summon a single creature at a time has nothing on ash.”

I flinch. _Fiyr, you idiot!_ Giving away others’ life-force types to potential enemies is somewhere between ‘trying to ride a dragon’ and ‘going elf-hunting’ on the stupid scale. Knowing there’s not much to be done now, I force a laugh and try to paper over the cracks with a grin. “Squirehood was like a six year holiday to the Blacklands. Had to bring pots of ashes from the castle’s fireplaces just to practice.”

Owen laughs, but despite Sir Futt’s chuckle, I don’t doubt that the older knight caught Fiyr’s mistake. _Could be worse,_ I decide. The Wynnders owe us; if any knights from other kingdoms _had_ to know, Wynnders is the best option.

I keep the casual conversation going despite the brief awkwardness brought on by Fiyr’s misstep. _Covering for Fiyr being the occasional bumbling idiot isn’t new,_ I figure, brushing off my frustration that he couldn’t even accidentally expose himself instead of _me_.

“Boar,” Sir Futt suddenly hisses under his breath, his hand shooting out to make us halt before we can start scaling the steep hill we’ve come to.

My eyebrows rise in impressed surprise when I realize he’s been checking the Trace this whole time. _Huh. I mean, I guess if you got driven out of your territory by a tyrant, you’d have to get used to being a little more alert._

Before either Fiyr or I can react, Owen is on his hands and knees, scaling the hill slowly like some kind of lizard. I restrain a snort of amusement at the knight’s strange position. Once Sir Newskar’s made it to the top, he turns and waves us forward.

Fiyr and I exchange puzzled looks, but climb the hill beside the Wynnder captain all the same. When we reach the top, my mouth drops open. A horse is meandering across the bottom of the hill, munching peacefully on the grass.

_No way in the Blacklands did that horse just show up._ No, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from growing up with Ravne is that there’s no such thing as an animal _conveniently_ appearing when a summoner is involved. And based on Owen’s cheeky grin, I know exactly where that horse came from.

The boar is grazing peacefully at the bottom of what I can now see is less of a hill and more of a ridge that cuts away steeply, not far from the horse and off to our left.

“Ready, Sir Futt?” Owen asks gleefully. “Shall we show the Thundrians how the Wynnders hunt?”

Daede gives him an indulgent smile that turns into something of a grin when his gaze meets ours. _Rather cocky for such an old knight,_ I think, amused. “Ready when you are, Owen. Give me a count.”

Curious as to where all this is going, Fiyr and I watch as Owen walks backward a little way, which I recognize to be giving himself space for a running start when he takes off at a frankly impressive sprint, then shouts, “One, two, _three!_ ”

On the _three_ , Daede, still standing next to us, as unmoving as a boulder, stomps once. Owen, as his stride touches the ground again, gets catapulted into the air all of a sudden. It almost looked like the ground rose up to meet him, somehow.

I watch, jaw hanging, as he seems to almost float through the air and off the ridge, down the cliffside, and onto the horse with nothing but a little grunt at the impact. Startled into a run, the horse whinnies and takes off toward the boar.

The show isn’t over yet. Sir Newskar, not missing a beat, unsheathes his sword that glints in the sunlight as he raises it above his head, then plunges it into the boar as his sprinting horse leaps past it.

The boar squeals, stumbles, and falls to the ground.

“Finish it off, would you?” Owen yells, something between a yelp and a laugh escaping him as the horse continues to gallop across the field despite the knight’s attempts to rein it in.

Daede Futt shakes his head at the young knight who is now practically disappearing into the distance, a slave to the whims of the startled horse. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

“Blessed Starlaxi, that was amazing!” I burst out, unable to stop myself from sounding like a little kid seeing life-force for the first time. “When he—and you—and the horse—”

“I imagine Rivier and Shodawa haven’t had such an easy time,” Sir Futt remarks with a shrug, though I see a smirk lurking around the edges of his expression. “We’ve had to get craftier; the quarry learns. I’d wager that Wynnd’s boars are the smartest in the four kingdoms.”  
“You can have the title,” Fiyr retorts good-naturedly. “I prefer mine fat and stupid.”

As I head down to finish off the boar and divvy up the load, Fiyr returns over the ridge for Quicksilver and Blitz, and Owen finally makes it back to us, wiping sweat off his forehead.

“I’m never summoning another horse,” he vows. “That was horrible. I miss Sleekrider.”

I hold back a snort. Fiyr is less tactful. “You named your horse _Sleekrider?!_ ”

“Shut up!” Owen exclaims. “I get enough from my court already! I don’t need _Thundrians_ passing judgement too!”

Daede intervenes and offers us the boar as the first payback for us more or less saving their court. Fiyr accepts it enthusiastically, which I can’t help also wincing at, though I’m privately grateful to have avoided the stupid dance of ‘oh no, please, you take it’.

Once we’ve set off again through Wynnder territory toward the solstice pavilion, I can’t help a growing feeling of unease as we walk. On a whim, I dig out the rough maps that I’ve all but abandoned on the return journey. _Doesn’t look_ great _to be scribbling down all the information that could be potentially useful in an invasion in front of the court._

But my instinct proves correct when after only a moment of inspection I can already tell this is far and away not the most efficient route.

“It’s going to be days before we’re back,” Fiyr groans as the sky is turning orange overhead.

“Maybe not,” I reply, waving the map. “I think I’ve found a faster path we could take.”

“Seriously?” Owen asks, hurrying over to glance over my shoulder.

I trace it out with my finger, but before Fiyr and Owen get a chance to celebrate, Daede intervenes.

“That would mean following the shoreline. Doesn’t the village of the Sun Rocks belong to Rivier now?” he points out, giving us awkwardly apologetic looks. “The risk of a patrol coming along shouldn’t be disregarded.”

“All due respect, the shoreline is mostly neutral territory,” I argue. “I’m sure that Rivier wouldn’t kick up a fuss, especially not since there are four of us and you cast an imposing shadow.”

The flattery doesn’t go unnoticed by the captain, but he doesn’t remark on it to my relief. _Better brush up on my sweet-talking. First the innkeeper, now Sir Futt? I’m losing my touch. Maybe I’m just not an apple-cheeked child anymore. Agh, that’s a depressing thought._

“Very well,” Sir Futt agrees grudgingly, and Owen whoops.

“I’ll be back by sunrise!” he cheers.

“You just want a warm bed,” the captain sighs with a wry grin. “Though I can’t fault you for that, I suppose. I’m just as anxious to return.”

_Can’t be fun playing baby-sitter for a couple of Thundrians,_ I think pityingly and bundle the map back into my bag before either of them can observe on the fact that I have a newly-detailed map of their territory.

We make our way to the shoreline before the sun has fully set, but my feeling of unease does nothing but worsen as the waves lap at the shore. Quicksilver pauses as we walk and paws at the ground with a whinny. Something bad is coming, I can feel it in my belly. It might also be that I’ve only eaten once today, but it feels like something else.

“You know… I think that we should maybe—” My voice is thin in the air, wavering. I stop and try again. “Do you think we should head a little further into—”

Daede stops, his silhouette outlined against the water beyond, and then he turns back to us grimly. “It’s too late for that. Swords up, Rivier’s coming.”

_Fuck._

I didn’t hear their boats, but I hear their boots scrabbling for purchase on the side of the cliff. I barely have time to reach for the trace— _Salty. Riviens!—_ and then they’re on us in seconds, legions of silver and blue uniforms swarming up the side of the cliff.

Barely having time to take stock of our assailants, I whip out _Graystripe_ and cross swords with a man barely older than me, with a shock of white hair and a nasty scowl twisting his face. Quicksilver, smart horse, whinnies fearfully and hurries away from us.

“So, Wynnd is back. Should’ve known Thundria wouldn’t just let them die,” he spits.

I drive a strike toward his shoulder that he blocks at the last moment, my sword bouncing off his harmlessly.

“You would abandon them like that?” I knew Rivier was cavalier and aloof from the history books, but this is a new low. “Coward.”

“Meddler!” he retorts, his hand flashing with light suddenly.

I reel back, momentarily blinded, and feel heat lash across my shoulder.

Regaining my balance is a trial on the slick grass, but I manage and throw a puff of ash into the other knight’s face. He coughs, pausing to rub his eyes instinctively, and I force him backward with a couple of quick strikes.

As the other knight defends, I hurriedly scan the cliff’s edge. Six Riviens. Fiyr and Newskar are managing three together and Sir Futt has locked swords with both Leaparra Fore and another Rivien. _We’re screwed,_ I think desperately, slashing at the other knight with renewed vigour. _We can’t take on six with four._

I can only pray to the Starlaxi for a miracle as the Rivien and I trade blows, always only a step or two from the steep cliffside. I can feel my already-sparse strength wane. A day of travelling and now an ambush? _Well, we’re screwed._

“For Thundria!”

_Prayers answered?_ I wonder, gasping a breath and dodging the knight’s stab that could’ve gone through my side if I’d been a moment slower. _That sounded like Sir Cawle._

I send another puff of ash into the knight’s face and backpedal away from the cliffside to take stock of the situation. Sure enough, a patrol of Sir Cawle, Lady Peilte, Sir Strommer, and Samn are thundering down the hill, on horseback, toward us, swords drawn. I breathe a sigh of relief, though the fight’s not even close to over.

The Rivien knight is charging me again with a vengeance— _Give it a rest, buddy!_ I plead silently—with his sword swinging and a blazing white fist drawn back.

I drive him back toward the cliff, suddenly aided by my mother, Lady Peilte, who has dismounted with incredible speed and jumped into the fray at my side. She throws out her left hand, life-force shimmering in the air.

The other knight’s sword slips out of his hand in her signature move as it suddenly becomes too slippery and smooth to hold onto, and he gapes at it in shock, then anger, and punches me with his white-hot hand, right in the gut.

My breath is forced out of me and I double over, gasping. When I recover, I see that my mother has left the Rivien on the ground, cradling his wrist. He’s not going to be a threat for another while. More pressing is Fiyr, who’s facing off with the Rivien captain of the guard alongside Samn.

Despite the descending darkness of the evening, I can see the crafty glint in the woman’s eye; she’s got something planned. _She must know she won’t win a two-on-one, even if she has arms like tree trunks…_

Her plan becomes obvious when her gaze shifts from Samn to Fiyr, and like a bird diving at a mouse, she lashes out with a kick that sends Fiyr reeling back toward the edge of the cliff.

My burning stomach forgotten, I stumble to my feet and try to run forward. Not fast enough, he’s going to fall—

Samn manages to grab the front of his shirt and reverse Fiyr’s momentum, pulling him down and back onto the cliffside and they tumble to the grass. Leaparra has left them in an instant, jumping back into the fight against Sir Cawle. _At least it’s someone she’s a little more fairly matched with._

A snarl, inhuman, makes the presence of one of Leaparra’s infamous summons known and I shudder at the thought of trying to fight her off. _Leopard-summoning, no thank you._

But there’s no time to marvel at her summoning capabilities, because the Rivien knight isn’t done with just a sprained wrist. The white flash alerts me to the attack he’s about to launch. _Oh, crap._

I whip around and slash in a wide arc, barely bothering to aim and just hoping to catch him off guard. The knight springs back, but he lands awkwardly, loses his balance, slides—

_Blessed Starlaxi, no!_

I reach out, needing to grab him or stop him or do anything before he—

He falls backward, hands lashing through the air for anything to grab onto, to keep his balance, to stay on the cliffside, but it’s too late again. This time, Samn isn’t there to keep the knight from falling.

The Rivien knight slips out of view.

“No!” The cry rips free of my throat, and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve thrown myself forward, landing hard on my stomach, hand stretching out over the cliff for the knight.

In the three heartbeats it takes for the knight to fall over the side of the cliff, his life-force has kicked in defensively and his whole body blazes with light. I grab for the glowing hand that is still reaching up, trying to grab something, anything to slow his fall.

My hand closes around his.

My palm is seared with the overpowering heat of his body as he glows brighter white, screaming.

I yank it back.

His scream wanes as he falls, then abruptly falls silent when his body makes impact with the stones below.

“No!” I scream again, but this time he’s gone.

The glow in the darkness cuts out.


	6. Chapter 5 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this book is going to be a rollercoaster. Many ups and downs. This is... one of the downs.

Chapter 5 - Fiyr

The Rivien knights crowd around the edge of the cliff, the battle forgotten. Sir Cawle calls off the Thundrian knights. It’s all in the background to me.

All I can see is Graie’s stricken face.

“Graie?”

“I—I killed him?” The confusion in his voice is the worst part of it all. He looks at me for confirmation, at a loss. “I killed him?”

I shake my head helplessly, hurrying toward him. “No, no, he fell, it wasn’t you.”

“He’s dead! Oh, blessed Starlaxi, he’s dead, he’s dead!” Graie shouts suddenly, reeling away from the edge of the cliffside like it’s just hit him.

Lady Peilte and Sir Strommer have rushed to Graie’s side to stop him from falling himself, but it’s unnecessary. He only sinks to his knees, burying his face in his hands and shaking.

I want to help him, but I don’t know how. I’m too familiar with the feeling of not knowing your own body, not trusting your own abilities. And I don’t have a solution. I can only hurry over to sit in front of him and wrap my arms around him, hoping I can make him stop shaking.

“Stay back,” Leaparra orders her knights in the corner of my field of vision. Her voice is shaking with fury. “Tigre Cawle. I should’ve known. This has gone beyond a border fight. This was not how an honourable court would have settled it.”

“Rivier should return to their territory,” Sir Futt intervenes, stepping between the two captains quellingly. “The battle is over. A great loss has been suffered tonight and it would be best for all involved if it were put behind us.”

“Rivier will not forget so easily.” Leaparra’s tone is deadly quiet. It makes me shudder. _After this bloody conflict, she’d speak of more so soon? Has she lost it? One of her own court is dead. Over what? Protocol?_

Graie stills against me as the Riviens disappear back over the cliffside to collect their fallen knight and set sail once more. He stays frozen against me until they disappear and then stands up shakily. I hesitate to let him go, but he pulls away from me, staring through me with hollow hazel eyes.

“Sir Cawle,” Sir Futt begins respectfully, dipping his head to the other captain. “Sir Harte and Sir Sterrip have done Thundria proud. Wynnd has returned to their castle and will be indebted to the Thundrian court for the coming seasons. Sir Newskar and I are deeply grateful, but it’s time for us to go our separate ways once more.”

Graie is still staring out onto the sea. I glance back at the Wynnders and wave goodbye to Owen as he and his captain set off, back toward their castle. It’s weird, I guess, since I only really knew them for a couple of days, but I think I’ll miss them. Sir Newskar’s confident grin and Sir Futt’s reassuring steadiness. At least Wynnd won’t be in any hurry to attack us and we won’t find ourselves on opposite sides of a battlefield.

Graie turns back from the water, meeting my gaze emptily. I open my mouth, but I don’t have anything to say. What do you say in the face of that kind of tragedy?

Thankfully, Lady Peilte, Graie’s mother, steps forward to support him as he sags a little. Giving him a last, pitying look, I turn away from the cliffside. _Wouldn’t be too disappointed if I never have to see this place again._

I see Samn, staring down the cliffside at where the Rivien knight, whose name I’ve learned was Wheit Calew, fell. He narrowly saved me from the same fate, I remember, the memory of the adrenaline that rushed through me making my heart beat faster. Figuring I should probably thank him for helping me avoid an untimely death, I step toward him. I’m intercepted by Sir Cawle.

“Follow me,” Sir Cawle orders.

I meet his dark gaze, noting with an uncomfortable jolt that we’re almost the same height now, and nod. For once, he’s right. Graie needs to get back to the castle as soon as possible.

Sir Cawle leads the patrol to where they tied their horses to trees at the edge of the forest. I sigh and resign myself to the long ride all the way to the castle. Great. What a great day it’s been.

I head off to find Blitz and Quicksilver, who escaped the fray by running off to a field where the cliff evens off. I lead them back to where the rest of the patrol has already mounted their horses.

Finally, _finally_ … we’re going back to the castle.

…

Lady Fyrra greets us as we hurry through the doors, the last of my energy reserves burning up in my desire to collapse into a bed.

“Not so fast, Sir Harte,” Sir Cawle cuts me off in my mad dash to the knights’ wing. “The queen wishes to speak with you both before you head off to rest.”

I try not to punch him in the face and go sleep for the next four years and instead dip my head respectfully, changing my path to redirect it toward the queen’s private chambers.

When I pull the door open, the queen is already on her feet, presumably having sensed our trace when we returned to the castle. She looks a little rough around the edges, but her face lights up when her gaze lands on us.

“Sir Sterrip and Sir Harte, returning to us at last!” she exclaims, beckoning us into the room where she already has three chairs set up. “Have you found Wynnd? Did you help them back to their castle?”  
“We did,” I reply, unable to share her enthusiasm in my exhaustion. _I just want to_ sleep _, blessed Starlaxi._ “Wynnd is safe in their castle as we speak, rebuilding presumably. King Tahliorius has promised to repay us somehow in the future.”

“Excellent!” the queen enthuses, but she must see Graie’s checked out expression, my slumped posture, and Sir Cawle’s scowl. “Well, what is it? What has gotten into you all?”

“Sir Sterrip decided to detour into Rivien territory,” Sir Cawle informs her.

“Hey, the whole patrol agreed to it,” I intervene, a little spark brought back by the injustice of his statement. _Blaming Graie is definitely not what he needs right now._

“A Rivien patrol attacked them. If my patrol hadn’t been going by at that exact moment, they wouldn’t have made it back to the castle at all,” Sir Cawle declares, folding his arms.

The queen’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Well, lucky you did. I’m sure they’re very grateful, Sir Cawle.”

He won’t be deterred so easily, though.

 _I just want to sleep!_ I plead silently.

“That’s not all. It was by part of the steepest section of the cliff. A Rivien knight, one Sir Wheit Calew was driven off the cliff and died,” Sir Cawle announces.

Graie flinches, his hazel eyes flashing with the pain of the memory. I want to reach out to him, but I know it’s not the time. I’ll help him through it, but first I have to stop Sir Cawle from framing it exactly how he wants it to sound.

“It was an accident,” I add, but have to squash the impulse to glare at Sir Cawle. _Does he_ want _to make it sound like Graie suddenly snapped and went all bloodthirsty?_ Though, thinking about it, yes, he probably wants to do exactly that.

“There isn’t a _chance_ that Leaparra saw it that way,” Sir Cawle counters, his dark gaze still trained on the queen. “What were you _thinking_ , travelling with Wynnders over Rivien territory?! If Shodawa and Rivier didn’t feel that they had to unite against Thundria and Wynnd, they certainly do now.”

Alarm flares to life in the queen’s life and I quickly try to control the damage of the statement.

“The Wynnder king just gave us an escort home and we were trying to be as efficient as possible! It wasn’t some grand conspiracy!” I look to Graie for him to corroborate the story, but he’s still staring at nothing.

“You shouldn’t have gone on Rivien territory!” Sir Cawle retorts and I see his fist ball at his side. Even now, knowing that he’s a traitor, I can’t help a flicker of fear at his seemingly righteous anger.

Fighting the urge to wilt in front of him, I snap back, “It’s not an _alliance!_ ”

“And Rivier is supposed to know that _how_ exactly?” Sir Cawle replies, contempt evident in his tone.

“Rivier knew that Thundria was bringing Wynnd back! They were the ones in the wrong; they shouldn’t have attacked our patrol in the first place!” Arguing with him is terrifying. It’s like balancing on a knife-edge, fighting not to fall. Sir Cawle’s eyes darken with anger.

“Rivier was not _told_! How many years, and you still know nothing of our ways. Has my training done nothing?”

Before I snap and punch him, or worse for that matter, the queen interrupts.

“Sir Harte, Sir Sterrip, you should not have intruded on Rivien territory. It was reckless and unnecessary. We may need to prepare for an attack from Rivier in the coming years. That being said,'' the queen adds, holding up her hand when I open my mouth in indignation, ready to argue my case, “you two did well in bringing Wynnd back. Two of Frostialla Fuor’s children have reached squire-age and you two will be training them.”

I’m stunned, swinging hard back from frustration to shock and delight. _Blessed Starlaxi, I don’t have enough energy. I’m about to drop._

“Them? But—Queen Bluelianna, they’re hardly more than squires themselves,” Sir Cawle reasons, though I can hear tight anger in his voice, coiled like an snake. “Wouldn’t it be better to give them to other, more _experienced_ knights? Sir Wynnd? Or perhaps Sir Styrp or Teyl could take another—”

“I’ve considered them, but the latter would be too busy with their own apprentices and Sir Wynnd lacks the patience for an apprentice; his skills would be better served elsewhere,” the queen shuts down his arguments calmly, holding up a hand. “The ceremony will be held tomorrow. The two of _you_ should get some rest. You look like you’re about to keel over.”  
_Thank you!_ I want to shout, but instead bow deeply. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Despite my own exhaustion, I help Graie back to his room first. Help him pull his shirt off, pull the covers aside for him to clamber numbly into his bed. As I close his door, I have a sinking feeling that he might not be sleeping for a few weeks.

…

I’m woken by a knock on my door. I have a few moments of bleary peace, then the events of the past few days slam into me like a wave of icy water. But I brush it off, because no matter the exhaustion and tragedy that have characterized the last days, things are looking up, at least a bit. I’m going to have a squire to mentor!

Feeling a little refreshed, I dress quickly and hurry to the dining hall to squeeze in a meal before the ceremony. Graie stumbles in around five minutes after I sit down with a plate of baked beans.

“Graie—” I greet him, but he looks past me, out at nothing. “Graie, I’ll get you breakfast. Sit down.”

He complies silently and I take another plate from Brindellia. Graie doesn’t react when I place it in front of him.

“Graie, you should eat something,” I urge, though I’m not certain he can hear me. “Graie?”

He finally looks up, meeting my gaze.

In his eyes, I finally understand. It wasn’t just Wheit. It was Sir Hartef, Ravne, Wheit—the last year has been hard for everyone, but him most of all.

“Calew’s death wasn’t your fault,” I mumble, knowing it’s not enough. “That cliffside was the worst place to stage an ambush. I almost fell too.”

The memory of which makes me glance inadvertently at Samn and Duss who are seated a few tables away, munching on their own baked beans with frowns. Duss is staring straight at us with naked jealousy in his eyes.

“I’d feel sorry for any squire with a god-toy as a mentor. What will they get, rule-following classes? Lessons in how to avoid ever standing up for yourself, how to best get rid of your dignity?” Duss sniggers at his own wit.

Samn mutters something and looks back down at his beans. I ignore them.

“The queen doesn’t blame you; I mean, she’s giving you a squire. What’s the use in beating yourself up?” I point out, digging for anything reassuring I can use to help him.

“She’s only giving me a squire because we need more knights. And why do we need more knights?” Graie doesn’t wait for my answer. “Because I’ve given a reason to Rivier for them to attack us.”

The brutality of his suggestion shocks me out speech for a moment. _But is he wrong?_ I wonder uncomfortably. Before I can try to assuage his fears, the queen’s amplified call echoes through the hall.

“Let all of the court that have demonstrated their life-force gather for a court meeting!”

I stand, wait as Graie pulls himself to his feet, and head toward the throne room. Despite Graie’s state, I can’t help a surge of excitement. _I’m getting a squire! I wonder which one it’ll be. I know Cindra had her heart set on me, but maybe the queen thinks I’d do a better job with Brakken. Cindra’s so cute, though. I think she’d make an awesome knight one day._

“Fiyr! Heard you brought Wynnd back, eh? Now that’s a story you’ll have to share with the elders sometime!” Heff Tyle calls to us. “Well done!”

I give him an awkward nod, hurrying to the base of the dais with Graie in tow. _What am I supposed to do for this, again? I—I kneel? No, the squire does. Uh…_

I send a quick prayer to the Starlaxi in the hopes that they can help me avoid a massive screw-up.

“Sirs Sterrip and Harte have successfully returned the Wynnder court to their place in their castle. Unfortunately, Rivier’s hostility to us grows by the day and it may seem that our fighting force will need to be expanded. Luckily, Frostialla Fuor’s children have reached the squire-age and will be trained by these noble knights,” the queen declares, beckoning Cindra and Brakken to her side, laying a hand on Brakken’s shoulder. “I call upon the Starlaxi to recognize this boy. He wishes to learn the way of the knight and one day join your noble rank. You will train under Sir Graie Sterrip until you reach your full potential and take on the name of a full knight. Graie Sterrip, you were trained well by the dearly departed Sir Liyon Hartef and you will pass on all you’ve learned to this young squire. I call upon the Lunar Crystal to give this boy his life-force ring!”

Brakken watches, eyes wide, as the queen knocks her sceptre on the ground. The white, opalescent mist that I’ve become familiar with seeps out and wraps around his hand. _Looks like I’ve got the little fireball, then. I guess that makes sense._ She’s got cinder elementalism, so I think we’ll be pretty well matched.

The queen repeats the ceremony for Cindra, who looks like she’s four seconds from screaming with excitement.

“You will train under Sir Fiyr Harte until you reach your full potential and take on the name of a full knight. Fiyr Harte, you were trained well by Sir Tigre Cawle and you will pass on all you’ve learned to this young squire. I call upon the Lunar Crystal to give this girl her life-force ring!”

Cindra watches gleefully as the mist spirals toward her and leaves a glinting amber crystal on her finger.

“Cindra! Brakken!” The court crowds around the dais, greeting the squires enthusiastically. Cindra, practically glowing with delight, shows Frostialla her stone and sea glass ring. Brakken is less exuberant, though even he can’t help a wide smile that curls across his face.

The queen knocks her sceptre to the floor once more, though there’s no mist produced this time. “Court dismissed!”  
“We’re going to train _right now_ , right?!” Cindra demands, seizing my arm in her hands.

I try not to reel back and instead take a deep breath. “Ah, I’m not sure, actually.”

Suddenly, a burn behind my ears makes me glance to the side. Tigre Cawle is watching, burly arms folded. _Waiting for me to screw up._

“Congratulations, all of you. The mentoring journey will be rewarding for everyone,” the queen declares, laying a hand on my and Graie’s shoulders. “Cindra, Brakken, you should both go eat lunch and get your rooms in the squires’ wing ready. Sir Harte, Sir Sterrip, come with me.”

I glance at Graie, wondering if this is something he knows about. His eyes are still unfocused. I sigh heavily and glanced back at the queen.

Queen Bluelianna sets off, down a hall next to the healer’s wing that I can’t remember ever having gone down before. It’s lit by dimly flickering torches. Curiosity overtaking me, I slip into the fifth dimension. The Starlaxi’s life-force sings on my tongue like cold water, getting stronger as we head down the hall. I can sense fire as well, intense and hot. _There’s something down here._

I glance at the queen, debating asking about it, but in the same moment, we’ve arrived at an innocuous oak door, smaller than the castle doors but heavy enough that I wonder what it’s protecting.

“The forges,” she announces plainly, pulling the door open.

I gape at the room.

There’s nothing else like it in the castle that I’ve seen. It’s almost dark, lit only by what appears to be a bowl of fire in the middle of the room. The edges of the room flicker in the light of the flame, showing some kind of dark brick. On the far side, across from the fire, stands a long table. There’s something on it that glints in the firelight.

“This is—this is where the squires’ swords are made!” I make the connection with an exclamation.

“It is the nature of simple steel that it houses the true blade,” Queen Bluelianna explains, waving us into the room. “Dulled to protect them until they can wield true-steel.”

She leads us around the fire and over to the table that I can now see is covered in long, flat bars of metal.

“These are the moulds.” She motions to wider strips of what looks like it might be clay with a long divot down the middle in a sword-shape. “You put the metal in, heat it, and it will conform to the edges of the mould.”

I nod, eager to try, but she stills my movement with a hand in the air.

“Watch first.”

She shows us both the technique with a long paddle to move the mould into the fire. The fire licks the clay, forced out of its natural movement by the paddle, and I can imagine how the metal placed into the mould will heat up quickly.

After a moment, she lets us try. Graie goes about it methodically, his movements almost robotic in their stiffness. It ends up helping him though because in my excitement my hands shake so much I drop the mould on the floor.

“Sir Harte, be careful,” the queen reprimands.

I hurriedly scoop it back off the ground and put it back in the fire. Other than a couple of other minor hitches, soon enough, we have two long blades.

“The pommels and crossguards are over here,” the queen directs. I wipe the sweat off my brow and follow her over to the far left of the table. “Be certain you choose the right pommel. It must act as a counterbalance to the blade to help the wielder.”

We nod and weigh them carefully. My heart brightens a little when Graie asks for my help making sure the balance is right.

“I think you need one a tiny bit heavier,” I advise and he nods, perusing the options. _Maybe he’s doing better._

At long last, the swords are finished. Two long, glittering blades lying on the table in front of us; I feel a flicker of pride. _I hope Cindra likes her sword._ Who am I kidding? She’ll be thrilled. I wonder if it’s a good idea to give such a rambunctious kid a weapon.

“Carry them by the blade, careful now,” the queen tells us. “Once the pommel is on, the enchantment takes hold. My sister’s simple steel sword was called ‘Oh shit’ because her mentor, Heff Tyle, made the mistake of gripping the handle.”

I can’t help a surprised yelp of laughter at the queen cussing unabashedly in front of us. Graie smiles as well, though it lacks real amusement behind it. _That would suck._

The queen takes us out across the throne room and out of the front doors, across the pavilion and toward the squires’ stables. As we walk, I note with a bit of surprise that the sun’s already far across the sky. _I didn’t realize it was so late in the day… We must have really slept in._

“Lady Faise,” Queen Bluelianna greets one of the ladies of the court when we arrive at the stable. _Why’s she here?_ I wonder, but my question is quickly answered when I slip into the fifth dimension and sense her animal magic gearing up to perform a summoning.

“Two horses?” she asks, waiting for confirmation.

The queen nods and Brindellia raises her hands, letting them waver in the air at eye level. She closes her eyes and in a heartbeat, we hear hoofbeats.

“You’re getting faster, aren’t you?” the queen observes, amused.

“Old age has done nothing but sharpen my skills,” Brindellia replies, cracking her knuckles as two horses stroll out from behind the castle like they just happened to be meandering across the treetops.

“Fiyr and Graie, lead the horses over to these two stables, they’re vacant,” the queen directs, waving us over. “Tie the horse and hang up the sword.”

I note the smooth wood of the stable doors. It lacks the carvings that ours had. _I hope we don’t have to do those ourselves or Cindra’s symbol is going to be a shaky square-lump._

Once I’ve carefully hung up the sword, gripping the blade all the while, Graie and I return to the outside of the stables to look at the blank doors. “Are we going to have to carve?” Graie asks nervously.

The queen laughs. “You know, you’re not the first to ask. I remember Whit being particularly anxious about that part. But no. Press your palm flat on the door and speak the squire’s name. The sceptre and the castle will do with rest.”

We comply and I feel the wood ripple, warm like water, under my hand. “Cindra.”

When I pull my hand away, a circle has etched itself into the wood, inside of which are three smaller circles engulfed in carved flames. Strangely reminiscent of my own carving.

“Now what?” I ask, unable to stifle a spark of excitement. All this mentoring stuff might turn out to be quite interesting; I was worried it would be endless lesson planning with a dusty book in each hand, but there’s a lot of life-force and rituals involved. _I can only imagine the layers of enchantments on the castle and forges and the stables, created over years and borne out of traditions…_ It’s pretty amazing.

“That’s it,” the queen declares anti-climatically. “You two should go rest. I’m sure you still need to recover from the battle from yesterday. Graie, did you get a chance to have Yllowei Fennen look at your hand?”

_His hand?_ I glance down at Graie’s palms and flinch. _Blessed Starlaxi, I didn’t even notice!_ His right hand is red and the skin is shiny and bubbling; I recognize it as a burn. Despite knowing full well that we haven’t fought, not even in practice, in a long time, I can’t help a stab of anxiety that somehow I did it to him.

“Whiet Calew had some kind of heat life-force. It kicked in when he started falling to try to protect him. I grabbed his hand and he burned me, so I let go and he… fell,” Graie explains flatly, hiding his hand in his pocket.

“It looks pretty bad,” I venture nervously.

“I’ll talk to Yllowei later,” Graie concedes, his eyes locked on the horizon.

“You two get back to the castle,” the queen orders. “You’ll need all your energy for tomorrow. The first day of mentoring! You should be excited! But for now, rest.”

_But I’m not tired!_ I fight the urge to whine like a kid and pause, waiting for Graie to set off first. I follow him, working my hands anxiously. _I hope he can get that burn treated. It looks really bad._

I can count myself lucky that I don’t have to deal with that sort of injury. Then again, I’ve started to notice that my hands have gotten calluses much faster than the other squires which makes me wonder if my life-force is wearing down my skin faster. _I’ll look like a turtle by the time I’m thirty if that’s true._

Graie takes his meal back to his room, so I do the same, not interested in sitting alone in the dining hall and fending off jeers from Duss. Sitting cross-legged on my bed and devouring the day’s dinner, I consider the days of training ahead of me. This time, the roles are reversed; I have to teach and Cindra is going to learn.

_Hopefully, I’ll be a better mentor than Tigre Cawle,_ I think wryly. Though, to be fair, he was a good mentor if a little bit… traitorous. _But that was part of the play. If it weren’t for Samn and Ravne, I’d probably still be trailing after him and hanging onto his every word like Liang and Darriek._ What a disturbing thought.

Sighing, I swallow the last bite and carry the plate back over to the kitchen and place it back on the counter. _I’m not tired, though…_ I know it’s going to take a while to fall asleep. _Can’t wait for all the tossing and turning that this night’ll bring._

I take extra care in washing, hoping I can delay the inevitable.

Five minutes later, I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to think of a way to silence my mind. _Sir Cawle, Samn, Sir Calew, Graie, Samn, Ravne, Cindra, Samn—_

Groaning, I roll over and plant my face in the pillows. Is my heartbeat usually this loud? And is that whistling noise the wind, or am I imagining things?

It’s going to be a long night. I need to fix my sleep schedule one of these days. I guess it’s gonna have to wait until the kingdoms are out of the seemingly-constant peril.

…

Despite my fitful sleep, I manage to wake up on time for the first day of training.

Once I’m dressed and down the stairs, it becomes clear that Cindra and I have different definitions of ‘on time’. She’s already pacing in the throne room, a smear of egg yolk on her cheek letting me know that she’s already eaten.

“Yes! At last!” she cheers, rushing over to me.

“Hang on, hang on, I haven’t eaten breakfast,” I protest feebly, pushing her off. “Is your brother awake?”

Cindra shakes her head, still bouncing around me. “He’s sleeping in, as usual. Gosh, he’s boring. Never excited for anything. But I’m excited!”

“I can see that,” I reply wryly and head for the kitchen. “I’m going to get something to eat, then we’ll go out, alright? Why don’t you go get Brakken up? And wipe the egg off your face.”

Cindra obeys, charging off wildly toward the squires’ wing. I briefly pity Brakken for the rude awakening he’s about to receive, but all thoughts leave when I see Graie staggering down the stairs of the knights’ wing, clutching his head. His hair’s a mess; I can’t even see his eyes.

“Graie, y’alright?” I venture nervously. “Bad night, or what?”

“I’m fine.” His voice is rough, but he doesn’t sound as completely beaten as he did yesterday, which is something, I suppose. He bounces back fast, I know, but Wheit’s death won’t be put to rest quite so easily.

“What are you going to do with Brakken?” I quiz.

Graie brushes his hair out of his face and squints at me. “Uh. Shit. I don’t know. Probably just head off and tour some of the territory.”

I’m a little nervous about leaving him alone for the whole day with a kid. “I can come and take Cindra along,” I propose.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m sure we’ll be fine. You two should at least get to know each other; I’m sure Cindra’s had plenty of her brother in the twelve years they’ve been cooped up in the castle and vice versa.”

I bite my lip but nod. _He’s probably right. I’m sure one day can’t do much harm. Fresh air will be good for him._ Sighing at myself, I decide, _He probably doesn’t want me worrying over him like a mother hen either. I’ll put him out of mind for today._

“We can eat dinner together later though, right?” I ask impulsively, then chide myself for sounding like a clingy child. _Relax. He’s not going anywhere._

“Sure, I’d like that.”

_Score one for the clingy child._

I scarf down breakfast quickly—ironically, likely getting egg yolk on my cheek—and hurry back out into the throne room. Cindra has made a big show of lying flat on her back on the ground and sighing morosely at regular intervals.

“Ready to go?”

She leaps to her feet in a move that would make Princesca proud and hurries over to me. “Absolutely! Come on, I’m decaying! Let’s move, move, move!”

I laugh but can’t help feeling an ache of nostalgia. _I haven’t thought about her in awhile, have I? I wonder how she’s doing. She’s… what, eighteen, nineteen now? I wonder if she’s happy with the gods. I mean, as happy as someone_ can _be with the gods._

“Let’s _goooo!_ ” Cindra exclaims, herding me out the doors of the castle. “I’m getting my horse, right?! My sword too? I know what I’m going to name it. Ready? _Murder Stick_. Pretty good, right?!”

_‘Murder stick’? Didn’t the queen say her sister’s simple steel was called ‘Oh shit’? I may as well be giving her a branch from a tree for all the respect she seems to have for it,_ I think, but I can’t help a snort of amusement. _I’m certain Brakken will be naming his Stormbringer or something. Graie’ll be pleased. Now,_ this _is something to tell him at dinner tonight. Murder Stick. Blessed Starlaxi._

“Ah… that’s a choice,” I tell her diplomatically as we head toward the stables.

“Just kidding. Not really though. I mean, eventually, I’ll have something kickass—” I can’t help it when my eyebrows raise at her choice of words. She coughs, “I mean, uh, something cool like _Cinderblaze_ or _Cinderheart_ or maybe _Cinderfang_ , so, for now, Murder Stick is as good as anything,” she announces, shrugging. “Though if the queen gives me a dumb name I’m learning to sail and moving to Rivier, I swear. After all, Thundria’s greatest knight is going to need Thundria’s greatest name.”

I fold my arms in amusement. “Thundria’s greatest knight, you say.”

“Oh, I know the elders are all gossiping about how the god-toy is showing the rest of the court how it’s done half the time, but I’ll do better than you,” Cindra says flippantly, though the devious glint in her eye is already letting me know that she’s looking for a reaction. “Did you know that I’ve already read Lieting’s Ancient Fighting Texts? Twice?”

_Oh, where have I heard that before?_ I wonder with a snort. “Sounds more like Samn’s field, to tell you the truth.”

_Blessed Starlaxi, now that’s a weird thought._ Technically, Samn and Cindra are now equivalent ranks. _But Cindra’s such a child and Samn is… er, not._

“Then I’ll beat him too!” Cindra promises with altogether too much relish at the thought. “I’ll beat everyone! Gosh, I’m really fantastic, did you know that? My demonstration was only a week after I was born. Mom says that’s the fastest one since Lady Faise.”

I was out of the castle, but I heard about it when I got back. Cindra nearly burned down the nursery when Brakken was taken out of the cradle they shared. _I mean, I know that supposedly all the life-force gifts can be repurposed for healers, but there are certainly some that seem like they’re a little more… destructive. I don’t know how either of us would use our for healer-y things._

“Is that my horse?! Blessed Starlaxi, it’s my horse! Yes!” Cindra squeals and charges into the stable to enjoy her gifts.

I watch her go with amusement and wait until she’s named her sword, debated on a name for her horse loudly, tried and failed to mount the horse, then decide on a name and let me help her onto the horse.

“Well, aren’t you going to get yours?” Cindra demands, already looking proud as peacock on top of the gray mare that Brindellia summoned only yesterday, whom Cindra has dubbed ‘Ashes’.

“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute. Try not to impale yourself,” I grumble, glancing back nervously once as I head toward the knights’ stables to retrieve Blitz. “Crazy kid.”

Can’t wait until she’s flinging around hot cinders. _I hope Lady Fennen’s got salves for burns at the ready._ Then again, I’m fairly sure my fire life-force will let me avoid any heat-related injuries. _Hopefully._

Miraculously, once I’ve led Blitz back over to Cindra and Ashes, she is not a splat on the forest floor or skewered on her own sword. She’s suitably impressed by the hole in the leaves that sends us to the forest floor in the blink of an eye and somehow manages not to take off into the forest on her horse. When she turns to me, despite her almost overbearing enthusiasm, I see a flicker of anxiety in her eyes.

“Well then, let’s go, shall we? See all the landmarks?” I propose encouragingly, hoping to dispel her worries. “Come on, I’ll take you to the archery range first.”

She brightens immediately. “Will I be able to shoot an arrow?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, I was horrible when I started,” I assure her.

“Yeah, but I’m…” She clearly thinks better of it and shrugs. “Lead the way, mentor-man!”

Stifling a snort, I start us on our peaceful ride through the forest. It’s a pleasant day despite the melting snow and gray skies; bird song whistles through the trees and the sun’s faint rays illuminate the remains of the snowbanks in sparkling light. I show Cindra the archery range, which she _ooh_ s and _aah_ s over probably more than is necessary, and we follow a river upstream, past Cumulus and up to the second largest tree in the forest; the Great Sycamore.

“ _Second_ largest?” Cindra echoes, puzzled.

“After the tree that the castle rests on top of,” I explain. “You know, apparently a phoenix used to live in it. That might just be an elder’s tale though, who knows?”

Cindra’s eyes glow at the prospect. “Imagine catching a phoenix.”

“I don’t think it would taste very good,” I observe, wrinkling my nose.

“Not to eat it, you barbarian!” she exclaims. “Keep it as a pet!”

“It would fry you to a crisp!” I retort, imagining the wide, flaming wingspan sketched out in the books I’d squirrelled away in the gods’ manor. “A fine pet indeed.”

“No, I’m a cinder elementalist!” she exclaims. “It can’t burn me! You should know!”

_She’s… right,_ I admit grudgingly to myself, but out loud I counter, “Fire might not be able to burn heat-based elementalists, but phoenix-fire isn’t the same thing!”

Cindra throws her hands up in the air as though to say _‘You’re impossible!’_ though as far as I can see, I’m just pointing out the obvious. Call me old-fashioned, but since learning more about the natural world from Sir Cawle and texts recorded in the castle libraries, I’ve concluded that if someone couldn’t theoretically summon it, you shouldn’t be trying to mess with it. Then again, I doubt Cindra’s going to try to tame a dragon any time soon. _Well…_ I wouldn’t put it past her.

“What’s next?” she asks eagerly, bouncing on her saddle.

I’m impressed; I thought she’d be worn out by the time we got here.

“Well, if you like the more dangerous varieties of creatures, you’re going to have a ball with our next stop,” I tease, pointing through the trees. “The Cockatrice Ruins.”

Cindra yelps. “Cockatrices? That sounds— _really_ dangerous! Are you sure it’s safe?!”

“We’ll stay far from the actual ruins. There’s a field that we can view them from safely,” I promise. “Stick right behind me and do _not_ investigate any strange noises.”

She nods, wide-eyed. _Probably shouldn’t scare her too much. We’ll be fine as long as we keep the field between us. Blessed Starlaxi, what I wouldn’t give for Ravne to have my back right now. Fearless bastard would probably have no problem strolling right into the ruins like he owns the place._

I try not to think about him too much, but when I do, I really miss him. Graie’s the best friend a guy could ask for and then… there’s Samn… but Ravne was his own brand of absolutely strange, and I wish he was back in the throne room, trading jabs with Graie and making fun of Duss behind his back again.

“We’re going to go to the soulpath next. Stay close, it can be dangerous,” I order as we put distance between us and the Cockatrice Ruins. “Trust me. I’ve had some close encounters.”

She nods, her eyes still round from the brush with the Cockatrice Ruins. We didn’t even see much except the shadowy entrance to the cavern and a couple of the jutting pillars. The cockatrices don’t tend to come out unless something spooks them.

We set off toward the soulpath, Cindra making the occasional comment about the other kingdoms and Brakken and how she’s already pretty much mastered the art of horse-riding and me trying to remember to check the Trace every so often. It wouldn’t look good to get ambushed by orcs on my first day of training with my squire. _Boy, wouldn’t Tigre just have a field day with that._

Once we make it to the edge of where the glassy path begins, I tell Cindra to stop and try to shift dimensions.

I wait patiently as she screws up her face and concentrates silently. After a moment, she sighs. “No luck. I can’t do it.”

“Try again,” I encourage. “Think of the world being flooded in water and everything going silent and heavy. It helps sometimes.” _Teaching moment?_ “After all, that’s how the Mer first—”

“Well, you’re going to have to be quiet,” Cindra comments.

I snort and fall silent. _Isn’t she just the sharpest little sword in the armory. Oh well, the boring history can come later. I’m sure I can find something suitably boring for tomorrow._

Before I can ask Cindra if she’s made any progress, a tinkling sound begins at the edge of my consciousness, then sharpens into the shattering of glass and a harsh sting on my tongue as a soul rushes past on the path.

“What was that?!” Cindra exclaims, jerking Ashes backward.

“Soul. What did you _think_ that paths were for?”

Cindra huffs and doesn’t deign that worthy of a response.

“Well, did you manage to shift?” I question after the tinkling is far in the distance, far enough to be barely audible.

“Nope,” Cindra sighs, but she doesn’t seem particularly beaten down by it. “Ah well. Plenty of time to learn how to be the greatest life-force user this side of the century.”

_Now that’s optimism,_ I marvel, amused. “It’s okay. No one gets it their first time.”

_Other than… me. But my first arrow also ate dirt, so I suppose we’re all good at different things,_ I figure. My life-force has something wrong with it, so maybe that’s why, too. _Cindra will figure it out, all in good time. And hopefully she’ll have a bit more control over her elementalism._

“This is the border with Shodawa,” I explain. “The soulpath divides the two territories.”

Cindra nods sagely, but I see her gaze wandering.

“And you’re probably pretty tired,” I guess, “so we’ll head back to the castle.”

Figuring I might as well squeeze in a little more sightseeing while we’re out, I lead her along the far edge of the territory to skirt the far border where the unclaimed lands begin. It’s also where the manors of the gods are. _But it’s been six years._

“Is this where the god-toys live?” Cindra asks, avoiding my gaze and peering through the trees. “Like, in the manors and stuff?”

I purse my lips. “Yeah. The gods have claimed most of this territory and as a result, their influence has caused the land to lose its natural force.”

“What do you mean?” She twists back to look at me.

It’s not a proud point of mine that the deities I dedicated my life to from a young age are actively hurting my adopted kingdom, but I try for a neutral tone as I explain. “In the area around the gods’ manors is what we call the Creeping Corruption. God-magic works differently from ours.”

“How so?”

“You understand how life-force doesn’t dictate a person’s path, right? Anyone’s abilities could theoretically be applied to healing as well as fighting,” I elaborate, thinking back to my original observations. “Gods… not so much. They don’t create, manipulate, or summon. They destroy and corrupt. They can do it on purpose… or…”

We emerge from the trees into a clearing that is full of translucent white, glittering spikes that jut out of the ground. God corruption.

“Or by their simple existence, they destroy. Their life-force cannot heal, cannot help. It’s volatile and damaging to _our_ life-force, and the life-force of the natural world.”

Cindra, silent and staring, glances down at a flower by Ashes’s feet. She dismounts silently and kneels to pick it. Her fingers make contact with the petal and it crumbles.

“That’s awful,” she mumbles.

“Don’t worry, the Creeping Corruption likely won’t be able to get much further than it has, or at least will only do so very slowly. The Thundrian forests have a lot of life-force that the corruption will have to sap to take over,” I reassure her. “No gods have an interest in us anyway.”

Cindra nods, but she still looks rattled. I usher her out of the clearing, not wanting to leave our first day of training on a sour note. I check the Trace as we set off, but it’s hard to sense anything over the overpowering god-stink. We’ve only been clear of the corruption for a few minutes when a sudden flash of movement through the trees catches my attention.

“Cindra—ah… nevermind, it might be nothing,” I mutter uncertainly.

“What is it?” Ashes halts as Cindra turns to look at me.

I slip into the fifth dimension, my gut thrumming with anxiety and though the sting of gods is still strong it still seems like… but…

“I think I see a god-toy!” Cindra interrupts and lets out a gleeful laugh. Before I can stop her, she spurs Ashes on and heads into the trees toward where I saw the movement.

“Cindra!” I call futilely.

A moment later, she reappears. “The god-toy ran off. Good riddance, she shouldn’t have been on Thundrian territory anyway.”

_She._ But I already know I’m not imagining the hint of suspicion that glitters in Cindra’s blue eyes, so I shrug. “Oh well. Let’s get back to the castle, then. I’ll report it to the queen, but I’m sure it’s nothing. You’re tired, aren’t you?”

Cindra opens her mouth defensively, then sighs and nods. “I guess. But I’ll sleep and I’ll be even stronger tomorrow!”

_Something to prove, alright. I wonder what that’s about._

We make it back to the castle without further interruptions and we take our horses back to their respective stables. Cindra’s already charging across the pavilion when I get back from the knights’ stables— _Tired, indeed—_ so I trail behind her and let her know she can get something to eat if she’s hungry.

“Good training, I take it?” I’m relieved to hear Graie sounding a little brighter than before when we meet in the throne room at last. “She seems… excitable.”

But I’m barely conscious of my actions as I keep up conversation with Graie through dinner and all the way through the evening until I’m alone in my room, on my bed and staring up at ceiling and remembering the faint trace from before, by the Creeping Corruption.

_It might have been my imagination,_ I lie, but I know the truth. I couldn’t mistake it. It was my sister, Princesca.


	7. Chapter 6 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cloudpaw approaches... *lightning crack*

Chapter 6 - Fiyr

I can’t get her off my mind all through breakfast. Not even Samn offering me the last piece of bacon can make my thoughts waver from their fixation on my sister.

“You alright? You seem really distracted,” Graie observes, his hand touching my back gently. I nearly jump out of my skin and try to press down a guilty surge.

“Ah! Fine, absolutely fine,” I swear.

He raises an eyebrow.

“I… yeah. I saw something the other day. If you get a minute after breakfast I’ll tell you,” I promise. _It would be nice to get it off my mind, after all._ Then again, in comparison to all that Graie’s gone through, my problems seem laughable.

“Well, Brakken should be up soon, but it really seems like you wore out Cindra,” he observes with a great deal of amusement. “What were you doing yesterday, throwing her headfirst into battle training?”

“I didn’t!” I protest. “In fact, I’ll have you know that she was quite confident that she’s going to be the most energetic, powerful, talented, blah blah blah squire ever.”

Graie rolls his eyes. “Reminds me of someone.” He gives an unsubtle stare in Duss’s direction. The bad-tempered squire sits alone over at the farthest table. Samn went out for early training, leaving him to sulk by himself.

“Thankfully, the similarities end there,” I whisper and Graie snickers in agreement. “But if you’re done, we should go somewhere more private. This isn’t something I want anyone eavesdropping on.”

Graie gives me a newly interested look and carries our plates off to the kitchen. When he gets back, I beckon him to follow me to my room and sit on my bed next to him.

“So, when Cindra and I were going around the territory, I decided to take her by the Creeping Corruption and as we were leaving the area, I saw a god-toy through the trees. Her trace was familiar. I think—” I take a deep breath, avoiding Graie’s glance. “I think it was my sister, Prin.”

Whatever Graie was expecting, it wasn’t that.

After a couple of beats of silence, I peek at him out of the corner of my eye. “Well?”

He bites his fingernail pensively, then shrugs and wipes it on his uniform. “I don’t know. Your sister hangs around the place she lives? What a shock.”

I frown at him. “What I _mean_ is… I’m thinking about maybe visiting her.”

Graie sits up straighter. “You are? You know that the way of the gods is explicitly against the knight’s code.”

It’s not something I haven’t considered. I groan. “I _know_ , but surely we can make an exception for immediate family? I mean, she’s my sister and I haven’t seen her in six years, for the love of the Starlaxi!”

“I think it’s closer to five,” Graie points out.

“Irrelevant! The point is, do you really think it would be breaking the knight’s code if I went and visited her?” I ask anxiously.

Graie shrugs. “Probably not. I mean, you’re not going to take anything from the gods, right? Then it’s not against the knight’s code. But just ‘cause something’s not against the code doesn’t mean you should do it. Does it matter this much to you to talk to her?”

I’ve had this conversation inside my head with fake-him dozens of times in the past night.

“Yes! The court _detests_ the gods and by extension, the god-toys. No one understands that,” I explain helplessly, not pausing when Graie’s face falls. “Look, I’m sorry, but you get it, don’t you? I mean, there was stuff you only discussed with Ravne, right? And there’s stuff I feel like I can only talk to my sister about. And besides. Six years. Or five, or _whatever_.”

Graie nods. “I get it. Then you should visit her. I mean, you’re probably not going to be able to go back and see her often, but I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to talk to your own damn sister.”

“Thank you!” I exclaim, jumping off the bed. “Could you cover for me today? Whatever you’re doing with Brakken is probably fine for Cindra as well. She’s… excitable, though. Make sure you keep her on a short leash.”

“She’s not a dog, Fiyr,” he reminds me with amusement.

I cock an eyebrow at him.

“I think, at least. Whatever, go see your sister. Be back by this afternoon though or Tigre’s gonna get suspicious.”

_Blessed Starlaxi, wouldn’t he just love that? Fiyr, the traitor to Thundria, off gallivanting with god-toys. Well, at least I’m not slaughtering the captains of the guard of my own kingdom,_ Tigre _. That’s an improvement, I would say._

I slip out of the backdoor in the kitchen when Lady Fyrra’s called for patrol by Sir Cawle himself. Sneaking around from the members of my own court is weird, but I creep along the side of the castle and wait for the patrol to leave. Once they do, I dart out from cover and fetch Blitz.

I wait, probably much longer than necessary, for the patrol to head off, then head over to the opening in the leaves and set off through the forest, following the sting of the god trace. I have enough time on the ride to talk myself out of it and turn around three times, but resolving not to give up every time.

The forest is quiet around me, like it’s holding its breath.

When the fence eventually comes into view, I’m not ready for the flood of emotions it brings. _I was just a kid. I left the only world I’d ever known on the chance that it would be better than a life of servitude. I was damn lucky that it didn’t turn out terribly for me._

Before I can think better of it, I tie Blitz to a nearby tree and, with a running start, scale the fence easily. And then… there it is.

The gardens stretch out, bigger than I remember—maybe they expanded—and the arches and soaring walls are familiar too. All pale brick and dark wood, though everything seems… slightly different. Well, not everything. The walls are no different than the ones from my memory. _Always locked in. At least that stayed the same._

I sit on the fence, unsure of whether I should wait and see if Prin comes by or if I should hop down, thereby trespassing on the gods’ land. With time to appreciate the manor I took for granted so long ago, I marvel at the architectural wonder that the gods cooked up. It’s strange, just slightly off; instead of proper curves and straight lines, everything seems just barely tilted or inverted somehow.

Before I can further ponder the puzzle of the estate, the sound of footsteps makes me stiffen. Almost unconsciously, I slip into the Trace to check to make sure it isn’t a god. A courtborn move. But the god-toy in me already knows it’s not a god; the footfalls are too light.

“Prin! Prin, over here!” I hiss, hopping down before I can think twice. “It’s—uh, it’s Rossy!”

And there she is.

Rounding the corner of one of the garden paths, emerging from a perfectly clipped bush, it’s my big sister. She’s older. I mean, I knew she’d be older, but it really only hits me in that moment that _Blessed Starlaxi, Prin is like… a woman now._ It’s a weirdly gross thought.

She’s tall. I guess that runs in the family, being an overgrown grass stalk of a person, but she fills out her own frame better than my string-bean self. Her hair is almost down her to her hips, and—

_In the name of the Starlaxi! Prin is pregnant!_

“Prin!” I call, waving her over.

She halts in the middle of the path and gapes at me. “R—Rossy? No. How is this possible? I thought you… I thought you were gone forever!”

“Just for six years, it turns out,” I reply, laughing giddily and hurrying over to her.

“Five,” she corrects, then lets out a yelp as I tackle her in a hug. “Watch the belly!”

“You’re having a kid!” I exclaim, pulling back and holding her at arms length like if I let her go she’ll disappear. “Whose?! Not Samedge’s, surely? How is he, by the way? How are you? You look good!”

“Not Samedge’s, no,” she assures me with a laugh. “That’s—that’s a story, alright. He’s fine, though. I’m good too. You look… um, a little skinny. Have those kingdom folk been feeding you properly?”

I laugh, barely able to believe this is happening. _My sister. Of course she’s fussing over how much I’m eating._ “Of course! Don’t worry about me, there’s muscle somewhere on my bones, I swear.”

I pretend to flex and she gives me an indulgent laugh.

“You—you definitely seem different,” she admits, examining me like a book she can’t quite read. “I don’t know.”

I shrug. “I’ve… I’ve been through a lot in the past years.”

“No kidding. Is that a scar?” she asks nervously.

My hand flies to my exposed shoulder where a tight ridge of skin runs across it. _Clehw Fiace, that bastard. Can’t even keep himself out of my first conversation with my sister in five years._ “It is. I’m a real knight which means battles and getting hurt sometimes. You should see the other guy, though.”

_If you can even tell that the burnt crisp used to be a man. Or at least, a body pretending to be a man._

“I’m sure,” Prin agrees, though I don’t think I’m imagining the nervous flicker across her face. “And you’re happy?”

“Never been happier,” I confirm, then realize how that could be taken. _Wow, is this how Ravne felt? I don’t know how to explain how much I miss her but how glad I am that I got away from here…_ “Well, that is… I don’t know. My life is really good. For the most part.”

I can’t dismiss Tigre, but until he makes a move on Queen Bluelianna or otherwise gives me a reason to take action, it’s pretty easy to just brush him off. Braukkiniaum is gone, Wynnd is back, Ravne is safe; I’m almost out of things to worry about. _Almost._

“That’s good to hear,” Prin assures me, fiddling with her skirts.

The silence hangs between us, neither of us quite sure how to fill it, when my gaze drifts back to her stomach. _I can’t believe it. I’m going to be an uncle?_

“So who’s the lucky guy?” I question.

Prin flushes. “Ah. That.”

“That,” I confirm, curiosity sinking into me at her evasive tone. “Why, what is it?”

“Well… it’s kind of hard to explain. I don’t… well, I don’t really want to,” she says stiffly, staring at her belly.

My eyebrows crease in concern, but she’s quick to wave it off.

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s just… just complicated. I’m afraid I can’t help much if you’re looking for tips on children because I have literally no idea what I’m doing,” she sighs.

I shake my head vehemently. “No. No, no, I have no intention of having kids any time in the near future. I mean, there aren’t even any girls my age at the court.”

“Will you settle down with a guy then?” Prin quizzes and when I falter, she pounces. _Ah, this is the sister I remember._ “Why? Who is it? What’s he like? Can I meet him?”

I open and close my mouth. “He’s… blonde.”

Prin gives me a look.

“Very pretty and very petty,” I declare poetically. _Two good descriptors, come to think of it._

“Petty? Sounds like a charmer,” Prin snorts. “Is he good enough for you?”

I yelp. “This isn’t a fair game! I haven’t even met yours! There’s no one for me to judge!”

Prin puts her hands on her hips. “You’re under no obligation to tell me anything about him, but I must warn you, I’ll be terribly disappointed if you don’t. Please? A little something? I want to know that you’re doing well.”

Her wheedling should be relegated to Thundria’s armoury; it’s a weapon sharper than any true-steel sword I’ve seen. I hold up my hands in surrender and she grins and folds her arms over her stomach. _You know, if there was anyone I could commiserate with about Samn, it’d be her. Graie’s already bad enough, wouldn’t want to feed that bird._

“Well, I frankly don’t know how I’ve gotten myself into that mess,” I admit, ruffling my hair. Once I start talking, every thought I’ve had about him in the last five years is pouring out of me. “I mean, I _do_ know, but it doesn’t help. He’s been the height I am _now_ since the age of three, probably. I mean, _how_ is that fair?! All smooth and cool as a bloody cucumber while my voice was squeaking every other sentence. Seriously. I wish he wasn’t so pretty, because then I’d probably hate him. Cockier than anyone, the _cockiest_ , what a piece of work. He used to be pretty mean actually, but he’s… uh, mellowed, I guess.”

Prin nods, rubbing her hands together gleefully with each new scrap of information. _Is this a mistake?_ But it feels good to finally tell someone all this. I have a feeling Ravne might have been able to sympathize, but again, he’s over living it up on Knave’s Moor with Barrleigh, so no chance there. It’s very weird to talk openly about it though, and especially with my sister.

“And every time I see him, I decide I’m going to just forget all the silliness and treat him like I would any other member of the court, then he says a fucking _word_ to me and I’m bright red and stammering like you wouldn’t believe,” I laugh. “Giant problem, I swear.”

Prin grins. “You think he feels the same?”

I snort. “Are you joking? He thinks I’m an idiot. Which… isn’t an entirely unfair assessment.”

She shrugs. “You’d be surprised what wonders can be worked by just coming clean about your attraction.”

The scenario that plays through my mind makes me want to dive into a river and not resurface. “Seriously? But what if he brushes me off? I think I’d have to crawl under a rock and die.”

“You’ll get over it,” she replies unsympathetically. “I mean, there’s no rush, but I promise you that you’ll regret not taking the chance if someone else at your court decides that they like the whole ‘pretty and petty’ act too.”

_Oh, blessed Starlaxi, what if Duss decided he liked Samn too?_ The river fantasy is back with a vengeance. _They’re always sharing their little jokes and whispering to each other. Is it… no, come on, that can’t be true. Duss looks like he stuck grass to his head._ Shallow, I suppose, but he’s not exactly breathtaking.

“I really like him,” I groan, “but I also really like the idea of not being humiliated beyond belief if a confession goes south.”

“Then say nothing and watch and wait as he’s swept off by someone else,” Prin says nonchalantly. Five years later and she still knows exactly how to get under my skin. It’s a talent, truly. “What’s life like in the forest?”

“Well, I live in a court, like I said,” I explain, scratching my head as I try to figure out a way to simplify the life I live now. “We take care of a whole kingdom and fight things that would threaten them. We have a queen, Queen Bluelianna Star. She’s… she’s pretty amazing as far as rulers go. I think you’d like her, actually.”

Prin smiles, but I know she doesn’t truly understand. _How am I supposed to explain how much it means to me? I would die for Thundria. It… it doesn’t fit into words._

“Everyone takes care of each other and the knights train the kids and teens, called squires, and show them how to be a knight and how to defend themselves and shoot with a bow and use the life-force. I have a squire of my own; her name’s Cindra. I mean, I really only _just_ started training her, but she’s really energetic and upbeat,” I tell her.

“And you’re teaching her about the kingdom?” Prin guesses, wrinkling her brow. “But… I love you, Rossy, but wouldn’t they rather someone that had been there longer teaching one of their own?”

_She hasn’t even been to the court but she can tell that they’d be prejudiced against god-toys._ She’s always been a little quicker than me. I run my hand through my hair. “Ah, well, I’m—not to brag, but I’ve done a lot for my kingdom. Queen Bluelianna trusts me... at least a bit.”

“Wow. Sounds like you’re really fitting in there,” Prin observes, then straightens abruptly. “I have to go. The gods are calling me.”

_What?! Already?!_ I wasted all our time blathering on about the kingdom and Samn! “Hang on—I—”

Prin glances back at the manor nervously. “No, I seriously have to go. But please, come back in two days, same place, same time, and we can talk again. I really missed you, Rossy. It’s so good to see you and hear that you’re doing well. I wish we had more time to talk.”

And then she turns away from me apologetically and hurries back toward the manor.

“Uh—bye,” I call awkwardly, left standing on the path by the fence. “I’ll see you in a couple of days…”

And then she’s gone again, around the corner of the path and away. The sound of her footsteps quickly fades and I’m alone. I shift dimensions, feeling her trace one last time before it begins to become stale.

_That’s it, then. My sister, grown up, about to become a mother._ Well, I don’t know what exactly I expected. I have an entirely new life, so why wouldn’t she? I didn’t expect her to be frozen in time, the same as from my memory of five years ago, up until the moment I stepped into the forest… _Did I?_

Looking up at the sky, I see that it’s almost noon. _I need to get back to the castle before Sir Cawle starts getting suspicious. How am I supposed to explain why I took the day off to just ride around the forest? Maybe I can hunt on the way back._ I check the Trace to see if anything edible has passed through the area recently. _Nope. Well, I should’ve known. Nothing living hangs around the Creeping Corruption._

I mount Blitz again and take her around the border of Thundria and the unclaimed lands. It’s a little drier, less soggy and marshy on the ground. Blitz seems to appreciate it. I soak in the weak sunlight as we head through the trees at an easy pace and check the Trace every minute or so to see if there’s anything either dangerous or that I could hunt in the area. Sure enough, a moment later, the heady trace of a rabbit wafts by.

Blitz continues onward, but I steer her away from the more thickly wooded area to try to avoid sticks that could crunch underfoot. Based on the trace, this rabbit feels like a big one. Sure enough, when we emerge from a copse of trees, I see the lone rabbit sitting in the field, munching peacefully on the grass and seeds. _Damn it._

I’m not risking going after it with a hunting knife; it would be back in the trees and out of sight before I can blink. No, I need to shoot something at it. Why did I leave my bow at the castle? _I guess that leaves one option._

Breathing out slowly, I summon the heat. The rabbit’s maybe fifteen metres away now. I dismount as quietly as I can manage and concentrate on my right hand. A flicker, a spark, a flame. _Can I shoot it? Will it burn the whole field down?_ Only one way to find out. _The thing at the battle for Shodawa was a fluke, surely?_ And then the incident in the abandoned Wynnder castle… I brush it off.

I breathe out, in, and thrust my palm forward. The flame shoots forward, a long spear of fire that flies straight at the rabbit. It stiffens and jerks up a moment too late and squeals as it’s thrown back by the impact. The rabbit cries out, but I force more heat down the stream of flame that connects us and a moment later it falls silent.

I pull the fire away from it and back into me, taking a deep breath and flexing the hand that held the fire. It’s hot, a little too hot, but still not burning. It’s dry, though, with flecks of white, dead skin dotting my knuckles. I shake it out as I walk over to the rabbit. I can see now that the flame hit it right in its face, melting and burning.

_Ew._ But it’s a good catch, so I turn its bubbling face away from me and carry it back to Blitz. Tying it down quickly, I mount the horse again and urge her back to the castle. _One rabbit after a day of hunting is pretty pitiful. Whatever, I can just say I was having bad luck._

We gallop back to the castle and despite my half-hearted attempts to check the Trace for anything else, come across nothing. I bring Blitz to the pad of leaves that transport us back to the top of the castle and lead her to the stables. When I come back around the side of the castle and cross the pavilion, I see Cindra and Brakken having a sword fight on the stones. _That might be the worst form I’ve ever seen,_ I note, holding back a laugh at how Cindra’s clutching Murder Stick with both hands and slashing at her brother.

I carry the rabbit through the doors of the castle, giving Sir Wynnd a nod and bring my catch to the kitchen. I’m pushing through the doors when Sir Cawle turns away from a conversation with Goldanna Flourer to give me an icy glare.

“You went out without your squire,” he states, but it sounds more like an accusation.

“I did. I figured the kingdom needed more food,” I fib quickly, holding up the rabbit as evidence of this. “Here.”

Lady Flourer gives me a nod and takes it, but Sir Cawle won’t be won over so easily.

“The kingdom also needs trained squires. Don’t neglect Cindra.”

_She was only made a squire_ yesterday _!_ I protest internally. “I won’t, sir. I’ll take her out tomorrow.”

I’m sure he’d love to keep harassing me, but I rinse my bloody hands quickly and stalk out of the kitchens. _Couldn’t he at least be one of those sweet-talking traitors like in Prin’s novels?_ I miss her already. _Two days._

I spot Graie sitting on the edge of the dais, cleaning _Graystripe_ with a wet rag. A bucket full of something that isn’t water sits next to him.

“Hey, can I borrow some of that? I think _Fireheart_ ’s getting a little grimy,” I tell him, taking a seat next to him. “What is it?”

“Lye water. Turns out ash _is_ good for something. That Aish Faor guy, Shodawes elder, ‘member? He has ash life-force as well and gave me a couple of pages on uses he came up with over the years,” Graie explains, scrubbing the sword with a look of deep concentration. “Water and ash can clean.”

My eyebrows raise. _Huh. I guess he’s right, it does have a use. I mean, it might just be cleaning, but it’s something. That’s more like villager life-force, but I guess we all need to clean sometimes._ I take the other rag that is hung over the edge of the bucket and unsheathe _Fireheart_. True to his word, the lye water scrubs away the dirt in just a couple strokes. There’s some grime in a harder spot by the handle though and I work at it next to him in silence.

After a minute or two, I notice that he’s dropped the rag back into the bucket and isn’t moving.

“You… okay?” I ask, searching his blank face. “Is it Sir Calew again?”

Graie nods slowly and covers his face in his hand. “I try not to think about him. It’s… it’s just that stupid prophecy, the _inutilă moarte_. I can’t get it out of my head. He died for nothing. Fiyr, and it could happen to anyone. It could have been you going over the edge of that cliff, or me, or my mom, or Brakken—it’s just scary.”

I put my arm around him and try to think of something that would reassure him. I come up empty-handed. _But it_ is _scary. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed._ “If Yllowei Fennen starts spewing something about our deaths, I’ll make sure we make the last days count.”

Graie laughs and wipes his cheeks. “I—ow, do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” I frown.

“My hands—they’re burning,” Graie exclaims, looking at them.

“Is it your burn?”

“No—I—ow! Blessed Starlaxi, that fucking hurts! What did the ash do to that water?!” Graie demands. Now that he’s mentioning it, my hands _do_ feel a little raw. My stomach sinking, I snatch up the piece of paper he has next to him and scan it.

“Lye water, obtained by mixing… for cleaning… blessed Starlaxi, Graie, this stuff can burn your skin! It says you’re supposed to wear gloves!” I yelp, jumping to my feet.

“I don’t think I read that far,” Graie muses, holding up his hands for inspection.

“We need to wash it off _right_ now before it does more damage!” I exclaim, pulling him to his feet and hurrying toward the kitchen.

Goldanna Flourer doesn’t get a chance to greet us before we plunge our hands under the ice-cold running water in the sink. Thankfully, I feel the itch subside quickly but I know that Graie was using it for longer and plus, he already had that burn on his hand from the Rivien.

Graie groans as the water cascades over his red hands. “Ah! It’s like needles, blessed Starlaxi.”

“Better than no skin,” I reply, pulling my hands out of the water and drying them quickly. “Next time you experiment with recipes a Shodawes gave you, do me a favour and read the _whole_ thing first.”

Graie laughs. “If we have another battle with Rivier, I can dump a bunch of ash in the water and turn it to acid. Beats throwing them off cliffs, I guess.”

“You didn’t _throw_ —” I cut myself off, knowing that’s not what he meant. If he can make jokes about it, then I hope that means he’s doing better. After five years, I know when Graie needs to make a joke and pretend.

“Did you find… what you were looking for?” Graie asks casually, his gaze darting over to where Goldanna is preparing the court’s dinner. “You were gone a while.”

I nod. “Yeah, I did, but… I don’t know. More questions than answers, I suppose.”

He gives me a sympathetic look. “If you need to talk…”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I smile. _Even if he doesn’t understand exactly what it’s like not being courtborn, he’s a pretty damn good friend._

But as we leave the kitchen to give Lady Flourer some peace, I catch a glimpse of Cindra and Brakken playing on the pavilion. _Brother and sister, but Brakken likely isn’t going to decide that he wants more from life and choose to run off and join Wynnd or something. The court almost seems to take their bonds for granted… I suppose our lives are hard in very different ways from those of the god-toys, and yet it’s simpler, isn’t it? They just have to fight for each other. They just have to stand up and defend the people they love and the life they live. They don’t have to choose._

I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. No doubt few in the court would stand for that kind of borderline-traitorous thoughts. _A true knight rejects the ways of a god._ It’s not wrong to miss my sister though, right? Even if she _is_ a god-toy?

The doors of the castle are pushed open as the queen strides in, Samn at her shoulder. Our eyes meet and I look away quickly. _I mean, he can’t read my mind. Obviously. But… after all that stuff I told Prin, I’d rather not risk it…_

It felt so nice to finally be able to talk to someone who would understand me better than a courtborn, but I can’t help a guilty feeling rising in my throat. _It’s not against the code. I didn’t_ really _do anything wrong._ But visiting Prin just feels like the first step. Hopefully the path doesn’t lead right back to the gods’ manor.


	8. Chapter 7 - Graie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohohohohohohohohoh here she is folks

Chapter 7 - Graie

I’m starting to reconsider the sageness of telling Fiyr he should visit his sister.

It’s been a couple weeks now and Fiyr has snuck off to see his sister almost every other day, leaving Cindra to train with Brakken and me. I can’t help feeling like it isn’t really fair to her, no matter how interesting I try to make the training (which, honestly, regardless of how hard I try, still ends up being pretty boring. Once Fiyr and I got access to the mentor-only section of Thundria’s library, I started to feel more sympathetic for Sir Hartef and Lady Fyrra; they did the best they could with what they had. The amount of outdated nonsense in there… yikes. We’ll have to do some cleaning at some point.)

Today, at least, Fiyr’s sitting next to me at the breakfast table as we chat about the day’s training for our squires.

“Why don’t we give them a hunting assessment?” I suggest.

“Are they ready?” Fiyr questions, swirling his fork around in his egg yolk absentmindedly.

I shrug. “Well, if they can’t catch anything, they’ll at least learn something about not giving up, right? Let’s go down to the village of the Sun Rocks.”

His green eyes dart over to me and widen in confusion. I swallow. _Running away from it won’t make it go away. I can’t just_ never _go to the Rivien border again because of the altercation at the shoreline. Besides. Cindra and Brakken will love the village of the Sun Rocks. I’ll bring money and buy them a pastry or something once we’re done with training._

“I think it’s a good place for them to try hunting,” I explain, avoiding Fiyr’s look. “It’s too cold to stay under the trees. Getting at least a bit of sun before winter snuffs it out entirely will be nice, eh?”

Fiyr shrugs and nods, still watching me thoughtfully. The skin on the back of my neck prickles uncomfortably at the scrutiny. _I’m not made of glass. I made it through Sir Hartef’s death and Ravne’s departure, and I’ll make it past Wheit Calew as well._ I’ll never forget his name. But I _will_ make it past it.

We finish breakfast and take our plates to the kitchen. I hide a little grin at the sight of Duss on duty. _Ah, that’s one thing I won’t ever miss about being a squire._ Cooking is pretty fun if the kitchen’s well-stocked, but cleaning up after meals has, and will always be, a drag.

Fiyr and I meet our squires by the stable and head down to the forest floor to give them their task for the day.

“We’ll be riding out to the village of the Sun Rocks to test your hunting abilities,” I inform them, producing a map I borrowed from the mentor library last night and pointing to the yellow dot by the Rivien border. “Remember, check the Trace to make sure you never cross the border. Riviens can get picky about what counts as trespassing, so just stay alert, alright?”

Brakken gives me a serious nod, but I’m not entirely convinced his sister heard a word of what I just said. I shoot Fiyr a look. He smiles, embarrassed, and then turns back to Cindra and orders, “Hey! Pay attention; this is important! You want to get skewered by some Rivien?”

Cindra startles and plasters a guilty grin on her face. “Yes, got it.”

I roll my eyes as she salutes Fiyr but I can’t help a smile. _She’ll be a great knight if she can pay attention for more than three seconds at a time._

“Alright, let’s go then!” Fiyr exclaims and spurs Blitz into a brisk canter.

I follow suit and soon we’re moving through the snowy forest at a steady pace. Cindra’s trying to goad her brother into a debate about whose horse has the longer mane and Brakken is having none of it. Fiyr seems absorbed in thought and my thoughts drift. Just as they’re beginning to focus on Sir Calew’s scream and the way his form glowed white in the dark and then… didn’t… I swallow and try to think about literally anything else.

_What will I get Cindra and Brakken from the village of the Sun Rocks?_ Well, whatever it is, it’ll come from Seraph Confections. My mouth begins to water as I imagine the powdered doughnuts and fruit tarts. _What would Brakken like? He seems like a cinnamon roll kind of guy. Or something really simple, like a vanilla cupcake._

“Graie?” Fiyr’s voice breaks me out of my food-themed reverie.

“Uh, yeah?” I try to casually wipe away the drool.

“What are you thinking about?”

My nostrils flare at his tone. “Not Sir Calew, though _now_ I am, thanks for that.”

Fiyr has the decency to look chagrined at the accusation, though the sympathy in his eyes still irritates me. _Come on. Constantly bringing it up and getting all sad on my behalf isn’t helping anyone._ Willowamina Peilte’s brisk approach to tragedy comes back to me. After my father passed away, she refused to mourn for more than a month. _Always moving forward. Movement, keep it moving. Lighter than a feather, quicker than a storm._ I would hear her repeating it to herself when she thought Duss and I were asleep. My take on it is something more like _Don’t think about the man you were partially responsible for the death of, think about food and cute people._

“You know, if you ever have to talk to someone-” Fiyr’s adopted that same limp fish tone that I can’t stand and I cut him off.

“Yeah, I _know_.” The words are more clipped than I meant and he flinches like I feinted a punch. “I mean- sorry. I just- I’d just rather not talk about it.”

Fiyr nods but I can tell he doesn’t completely understand. _Some of us just don’t want to constantly spill our guts to everyone around us._ I’d never say it out loud, of course, because the Starlaxi knows it would only make his kicked-dog look worse, but it doesn’t make it less true. _If the way I want to deal with it is to just not talk about it and let the wound heal in its own time, then that’s what I’m going to do._

Soon enough, we’ve emerged from the trees and reached the outer limits of Thundria’s biggest forest. The snow underfoot becomes deeper and the horses step higher. I see the furthest buildings of the village of the Sun Rocks beyond where the cliffside is at its steepest.

“Remember to keep track of the Trace!” Fiyr calls after Cindra as she immediately takes off on her charcoal-gray horse, back toward where the undergrowth is a little thicker.

Brakken looks to me for instruction and I shrug. “Just do your best.”

He nods uncertainly, then snaps the reins lightly and his horse, Brownie, takes off. I sigh. He could take a page out of Cindra’s book on initiative. _Really good at following directions, but without them he’s like a toddler. Well, there’s time yet for him to learn to take control of his own life._

I glance back at Fiyr, who’s watching me uncertainly. _For fuck’s sake._

“Ew. Winter,” I comment, trying to break up a little of the tension lingering in the air.

He nods, frowning at the half-frozen sea that stretches out from beneath the cliff. The ice meets the lashing waves across the water from us and I’m curious to see if the ice is solid enough to stand on. The Starlaxi knows it’s hard enough to launch any kind of counter-attack on Rivier as it is; a frozen path straight into the heart of their territory would be _veeeery_ convenient.

I do my best to keep up a casual conversation with Fiyr as we wait for Cindra and Brakken to get a good start on their hunting and eventually he begins to relax more and— _finally_ —realize that I don’t want to talk about Sir Calew. After making him turn fun shades of red with snarks about Samn, we head after our squires.

I track Brakken’s trace back through the undergrowth and sigh as I realize he more or less followed Cindra and began to hunt not far from her. _Again with following your sister’s lead, Brakken,_ I mentally chide him. _I guess Cindra’s pretty… domineering. Maybe she’s going to be a captain or something, the Starlaxi help Thundria if it happens. But Brakken should still learn to think for himself._

They’re not far from the dry gorge where the trade routes to outside the kingdoms’ territory lead. I send a silent prayer to the Starlaxi that the wooden dam that Thundria and Rivier supervised the construction of years ago will withhold another winter. If it flooded, it would cripple a lot of important trade.

At least Brakken had some luck, if not initiative. I find him in a clearing on the opposite side of the cliff from the village of the Sun Rocks and not far from the water’s edge, holding two small hares. I’m careful not to show myself while he straps them to Brownie’s back and remounts.

He sets off again, and I can tell he’s tracking the drifting trace of a pine marten. _He could line his cloak with the fur,_ I think on his behalf. A little trophy that Cindra didn’t hold his hand through the acquisition of might be good for him.

Eventually, the pine marten is dead by clever use of the surrounding bracken in the undergrowth and Brakken’s hunting knife, then my squire starts to head back to where we started. I decide it’s time to show myself and nudge Quicksilver out of the bracken and into his line of sight.

“Gah! Oh, Sir Sterrip, you scared me,” he gulps, his head snapping around to stare at me.

I raise an eyebrow.

“I was in the Trace,” he explains hurriedly, tucking a lock of golden-brown hair that fell in his face at the sudden movement back behind his ear. “Sorry. Sorry, you startled me. It’s somehow harder to sense stuff sneaking up on you and easier at the same time.”

I know what he’s talking about; the murkiness of the Trace lends itself well to laser-focusing on a particular target and blocking out the rest of the world. If you’re looking for someone sneaking up on you, it’s easier, but getting absorbed in something else means you might never know until your throat is cut. “You’ll learn in time. C’mon, let’s head back.”

He nods gratefully and I lead the way back to where the cliff is steeper. We follow the edge of the cliff—though not _too_ closely, I’m careful—and I look again at where the ice meets the water of the Rivien sea. The forest creeps closer to the cliff’s edge, but instead of moving away and closer to the edge, I begin to hack the branches back with _Graystripe_.

Getting a little too into it, I swing harder and in wider arcs than are necessary. Weirdly soothing, the _whip_ of my sword and the clatter of the branches. “Ha!” I cry triumphantly, cutting through a thick branch in one swoop.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Brakken asks awkwardly, tilting his head at me.

“A knight gets in practice wherever he can,” I inform him, slashing at the branches with vigour. “Even on the forest.”

Brakken nods seriously, not seeming to catch the tinge of sarcasm and starts to slash at the branches alongside me. I sigh silently.

…

Reunited at last with Fiyr and Cindra by the edge of the Rivien border cliff, we’re turning to head back toward the village of the Sun Rocks when Cindra stops us.

“Hang on, that ice looks strong enough to stand on,” she says slowly.

Fiyr turns back to her, his lips thinning. “And?”

_Definitely going to be captain one day,_ I think, stifling a snicker.

“And what if we could get to one of the islands!?” Cindra demands, clapping her hands. “Rivier’s always so far out of reach, but Mom says this winter’s been one of the coldest in a long, _long_ time!”

I can see Fiyr’s knuckles tightening on the reins of Blitz from my vantage point next to Brakken. “Cindra, we’ll report on it to the queen and she’ll do what’s best for Thundria.”

“Well we’d better tell her how strong the ice is,” his squire replies reasonably.

“Yeeees…?” Fiyr’s eyes narrow.

“I’ll go test it!” she volunteers instantly.

“Absolutely not,” Fiyr counters just as fast. “I’ll do it.”

“Hang on, _Sir Harte_ , a moment?” I interrupt and draw him a few steps away from Brakken and Cindra. “You think it’s a good idea to go down to the ice and test it and leave Cindra up to her own devices?”

Fiyr shrugs, though I can tell the possibilities playing through his head aren’t good from the furrow in his brow.

“Uh, what’s the worst she could do?” he asks weakly.

I just point.

He turns to look at where Cindra is trying to stand up in her saddle and balance on Ashes. He turns back to me, his face paling.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Can’t you watch her?” he wheedles.

“You’re better at dealing with her, just let me check the ice,” I say with an air of finality. “Come on, I think she’s about to try to joust Brakken.”

Fiyr buries his face in his hand but quickly nudges Blitz back toward Cindra and Brakken, interrupting the impromptu battle. I see Cindra’s face fall and then a moment later, Fiyr turns back around and waves me down toward the ice.

I nod and steer Quicksilver toward the village of the Sun Rocks so I can find a place to pick my way down the cliff and to the ice’s edge. My path merges with a road headed toward the Sun Rocks village.

Far ahead, I see a wagon, similar to the one Fiyr and I pulled to the Wynnders’ hideout, being pulled by a figure, presumably from the village. I catch up to the cloaked villager quickly and fall in step.

“Oh.” The villager keeps their eyes on the path ahead while they lead their oxen, their giant brown cloak and hood covering every feature, but the single, contemptuous word is unmistakable.

_Excuse me?_ I frown a little and squint closer at the villager. Apart from their general height and build, I can’t tell much about them. Their gait is strange, sort of off-kilter like they have a limp. _Old then?_

“Hey, you’re going to the village of the Sun Rocks, right?” I ask, aiming for a friendly tone despite their brusque behaviour.

“Mm,” is the answering grunt.

_Alright, be an asshole then,_ I think. _No skin off my nose. Better not let this person know I’m Thundrian._ I mean, the village of the Sun Rocks _is_ technically Rivien territory and them seeing us—that is, _me_ —testing the strength of the ice on their territory would be… not good.

I ignore them as we continue toward the village and take silent stock of all the things on my person that signify my courtborn status. I discreetly slip my life-force ring into my bag. _Let’s see, my ring, my sword… and if this villager’s experienced enough with the life-force, my trace. But there’s nothing I can do about that._ I ensure that _Graystripe_ ’s still tucked against my hip and keep my gaze ahead.

The cliff’s evening off to a rocky beach; soon I’ll be able to head onto the ice. The stranger’s still leading their oxen toward the village and I don’t bother bidding them farewell. I carefully lead Quicksilver down to the edge of where the ice meets the pebbles and squint suspiciously at the glinting frost. _Will that hold me?_

Time to find out, I guess.

I nudge Quicksilver forward once more and she paws the ground nervously. “C’mon. Let’s go. I’ll stop you before we get close to the water’s edge.”

Setting off across the ice is a nail-biting experience but after a few minutes of slow walking and nothing producing itself, I breathe out a sigh of relief. We’re not even halfway to the edge of the ice and I glance back at the cliffside to gauge the distance so far. I gulp. A few people that I don’t recognize have gathered at the edge of the ice. _Not villagers from the village of the Sun Rocks, I hope._ But it’s a long shot. _Well, where else would they be from? Maybe a village by the gorge-trade routes. Hopefully the villagers don’t report Thundrian activity back to the Riviens._

Oh well, I’m out here now. Better find something to report back to Queen Bluelianna. Maybe we’ll end up launching a raid after all; even if there isn’t enough frozen ice at the moment, winter’s definitely not done with us yet. I wouldn’t mind a little action; a proper, regular fight, instead of the shit at the border with Calew and Lady Fore.

I shudder and try to take my mind off it. _Fruit tarts and croissants and—_ Quicksilver whinnies beneath me and I snap out of my food-reverie and glance down to see that she’s paused and see that there are cracks running out across the ice from her last step. _Shit!_

I seize the reins and yank her back toward the cliffside, but she rears up and I’m launched off her back. In the chaos of the ensuing moments, I see light and ice and a gray flash as Quicksilver runs back toward the cliffside, then my back collides with the solid ground-

Not the solid ground, the ice-

It caves beneath me and I plunge into the water.

Cold darkness swamps my world.

The ice-cold water seizes me in a freezing grasp, crushing my lungs tighter in every passing moment. I feel my clothes float off my body and the weight of my bag is pulled away from me— _my maps_!

I thrash in an effort to try to latch back onto the bag, but in the darkness and the freezing, freezing water, I can’t get a hold on it. A tiny part of me is mourning the maps, but the rest of me continues to thrash, trying to fight back up to the surface. But light is hard to see in the crushing darkness and _blessed fucking Starlaxi it’s so damn cold!_

My lungs are burning. Is this what it feels like to drown? I’m drowning. _Oh blessed Starlaxi, I’m_ drowning _!_

I can feel myself being pulled down deeper into the water. _It’s_ Graystripe _, my sword’s going to drown me._ Can I drop it? But—but get rid of my sword? _But it’s going to drown me! I can’t swim!_

I fumble blindly, hands numbing and burning simultaneously, for my belt where _Graystripe_ is, but my hands are moving too slowly and it’s so cold—I need to breathe—

Two hands lock around my shoulders, digging into my frozen skin. I try to jerk away— _gross creepy sea creatures going to slaughter me-_

I try to scream and choke instead. There’s only water and the weight behind my eyes crushes me in sparks and ice-cold blackness.

…

“Hey. Hey, wake up,” a cool voice orders. “Your friends are minutes away from drowning me. Wake up. I can feel your pulse, no point in pretending.”

My face. _Ow._ My face hurts. Someone’s slapping me.

I groan and cough, feeling my lungs strain against the water in my mouth and throat. “Gah—what?”

Blinking the water out of my eyes, I see light. _The Starlaxi? Oh no… did I drown?_ The sun hits my eyes. There’s a shadow blocking it partially, leaning over me, and- hitting me.

“Hey—stop—” I mumble, batting the hands away weakly.

The form pulls away and rocks back on their heels to survey me. The sun leaves my eyes, finally, and I sit up shakily.

_Is that a member of the Starlaxi?_

I rub my eyes and squint at the person in front of me. _That’s… a familiar brown cloak. Oh great, it’s that rude villager that—blessed Starlaxi!_

The rude villager is also the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

“There you go. Can you stand?” she demands briskly, standing and brushing off her cloak. “I’ll take you back to Sun Rocks. You’ll catch a chill like that.”

She squints back toward the cliffside, giving me a moment to stare at her in gaping shock. She’s pulled back her hood to show her face that is—wet? _Oh. She saved me? The hands… that was her, then?_ Wet, dark gray hair hangs in ringlets around her pointy, pale face, where light, almost ghostly blue eyes dart across the horizon. She brushes some of the wet hair back behind her shoulders and turns back toward me.

“Hah—what?” I mumble. _What? She said something about…?_

“Stand up,” she orders.

I scramble to my feet and then suddenly stumble when the world flickers around me. _Agh, not quite—okay yet._

Hands are back on my shoulders. She steadies me and I pause, unable to look away from her pale stare. “Hi, I’m Graie,” I offer with a weak smile. _Blessed Starlaxi, I’m sopping wet. I’m sure I’ve never looked more charming._

She stares silently at me for a moment more and then pulls away. “You need to get dry. Did you lose anything in the water?”

_My maps!_

I spin around to stare at the black water helplessly. “Yeah! I had a bag and it floated off in—but it was full of paper, and… aw, it’s not coming back, is it…” I slap my hands over my face, bemoaning the loss of my precious drawings.

She laughs a little. “Probably. Why did you bring a bag full of paper if you were going for a swim?”

Turning back around, I frown at her. “I didn’t _plan_ to! I can’t even swim!”

“I can… tell. So how did you fall in the water in the first place?” she demands.

“I was checking the ice to—” _If she’s a villager, she’s technically part of Rivier and I shouldn’t warn her about a potential raid,_ my brain reminds me and I cut myself off.

She raises an eyebrow.

“Um. Nothing. I wanted to go for a dip to cool off.” _Smooth. To cool off in the middle of winter. Change the subject, damn it, Graie!_ Who are you?”

That pair of bright blue eyes head up to the sunlight and she shades her eyes. “Well—that’s not really important. C’mon, you’re freezing, aren’t you?”

My hands are numb, but I hadn’t noticed. I flex them slowly, watching as they go from white to red and back. “Oh yeah.” _But I can help with that! And maybe impress her at the same time._ I clap my hands and pull ash out of the air around me, focusing and trying to bring the ashes back to the moment they were created. Soon, I have a smoldering ball of floating ashes in the air and I bring my hands close to it, rubbing my hands together.

But far from being impressed, the villager takes a step back and squints at me.

“Hang on… Are you…”

Suddenly, my ashes disintegrate and fall to the ice. _What in the Blacklands?_ I try to raise them and heat them up again, but my life-force feels just out of reach. My hand goes instinctively to my right hand to hold my silver band, but it’s—

_No! Shit—shit—I put it in my bag! It’s probably at the bottom of the Rivien sea by now!_

“What’s wrong?” she asks, concerned by the sudden change in me.

“My life-force ring,” I groan, past caring whether she’ll turn me in to the next Rivien patrol that comes by. “My life-force ring was in the bag that went into the sea and—argh. I’m a knight, see, and it’s a ring that we use to—”

She rolls her eyes and cuts me off. “What was it made of?”

“Silver and labradorite,” I mourn. I bury my head in my hands again, a thousand possibilities of Queen Bluelianna slaughtering me and hanging me up in the throne room running through my head. _First the maps, then my ring. Quicksilver probably fell off a cliff and Brakken is being kidnapped by elves as we speak. Where are they, anyway?_

She claps her hands and laughs suddenly. “Awesome!”

“What?!” I demand, jerking upright and glaring at her. “No! Not awesome! What in the Blacklands do you mean, ‘awesome’?!”

By way of answer, she points a finger toward the black water. I follow her gaze and see nothing but the foaming water and look back at her. I notice the hand she’s holding out, also her right hand, is covered in metal rings. One, on her ring finger, has begun to glow with pale light. It’s a silver band like mine is—was—but it’s more elaborately carved. _That’s—it can’t be. Is this ‘villager’ actually—_

I turn back to the water’s edge to see a sudden glitter break through the darkness of the water, then something shoots up from the surface and hangs in the air, glittering in the sunlight.

“Today’s your lucky day,” she informs me with a grin and waves it over to us. My ring drops into my hand; it’s ice-cold.

_Holy shit._

“Okay, who in the Blacklands _are_ you?!” I demand, closing my fingers over the ring protectively. “You have life-force. Strong life-force. And is that a life-force ring?” _No, no, no, is she…?_

She rubs her temples and sighs. “Yes. Um. My name is… Sila. Now, you need to go back to the village of the Sun Rocks before you actually freeze to death.”

_Sila._ I rub my numb hands together, feeling the weight of my ring comforting me. “But-”

“I’m not kidding, your cheeks are bright red, you’re going to die out here if you don’t go back to shore _right_ now,” she snaps, whirling on her heel and hurrying back across the ice.

“Graie! Are you okay?! We saw you go under!” It’s Fiyr, cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling as he and the squires hurry across the ice toward me. “Hey, who are you? Did you save him? Thank you! The Starlaxi blesses you!”

Sila gives him an appraising look and shakes his hand half-reluctantly.

“I need to go back to the village of the Sun Rocks,” I mumble, feeling my teeth start to chatter.

“At last.” Sila rolls her eyes.

Fiyr nods and hurries forward to take my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay? Can you feel your fingers? Oh _no,_ the maps!”

_Yeah. The maps._ I groan again. “I shouldn’t have gotten so close to the water’s edge. Probably gonna catch some—some kind of flu—or—or—” My teeth have begun to chatter in the frosty air as it winds around my dripping clothes.

“Graie, let’s _go!_ ” Sila reiterates, waving me over hurriedly.

“Hang on, do you two know each other?” Brakken interjects, glancing at the villager—or maybe not villager, and I’m not sure I want to know—skeptically.

I shake my head, teeth still chattering. Sila purses her lips and stations herself at my other side, all but dragging me back toward the village of the Sun Rocks. Fiyr’s still looking at her in unspoken questioning.

She answers none of their silent questions as I’m steered back across the ice toward the shore. It’s only as our journey stretches on to minutes that I realize how far I managed to get my idiot-self out onto the ice. _Good one. I should’ve stopped way before I got to where I did._

The sky is grayer than ever and I pray to Starlaxi that it’s not going to start snowing again before we’re back in the castle. _Back in the castle._ The thought of my warm bed almost sends me to my knees. Forget Seraph Confections, I just want to sleep. _And maybe not leave the castle until this monster-winter is over._

Our silence is finally broken when Cindra demands, “So you live in the village of the Sun Rocks?”

I look at Sila—well, that’s not true, I was already staring at her, I think—and her brow furrows. “Well… yes. Sort of. In a—manner of speaking.”

_Maybe it’s temporary, or maybe she has one parent that lives there, or maybe she’s nomadic like the Riviens—no, she’s not like them._ Right? _Why would it matter, Graie?_

“Cool! What’s it like?! What are the trade fairs like?” Cindra peppers her with questions with the sort of eagerness that might give the impression that someone she knows didn’t almost die in the last ten minutes.

“Busy,” she says simply and we finally reach the shoreline. She leads us up the path, away from the beach, and to the entrance to the village. “Afternoon, Herrick.”

The guard gives her a nod and I fight the urge to grin at the serious expression on his face as he holds his shoddy-looking spear stiffly. _That’s not going to do much against an elf. I mean, even a bandit that knows more than two things could probably take this chipmunk with a stick down. But whatever, if it makes the villagers feel safe._

“We should get you warm,” Sila announces to me gruffly. “A pub, then?”

“We have kids,” Fiyr interrupts with a warning tone.

Sila’s hand is off my shoulder in an instant and her gaze flicks between us. “Sorry, sorry, my bad, didn’t realize. I know a pub that’s a couple streets from here.”

Fiyr squints at her. Even in my half-drowned state, I manage to catch her meaning. _No Sila, like ‘we have Cindra and Brakken with us and a pub is maybe not the best place to take them’, not ‘Fiyr and I are raising children, so don’t touch my husband, beautiful stranger’._

A snort escapes me before I can help it. “No. He means Cindra and Brakken at a pub is a recipe for disaster.”

“C’mon, it’s barely past three, no one’ll be drinking,” Sila promises, a little red in her cheeks the only indication that she noticed her own mistake. “Besides, their beer is like seawater. We’ll just warm up.”

I’m ready to cave and head off to have a drink with probably the prettiest person possibly ever, _terrible_ though it sounds, but Fiyr still looks less than convinced. I turn to him with a pleading expression, putting on my best ‘ _don’t say no to the drowned man’_ look, and he finally relents.

“Just to warm you up, then we get the horses and go back to the castle.”

_There it is again._ I mentally slap myself and then him for being so dumb. _Did he hit his head?_

Sure enough, Sila’s blue eyes narrow a fraction and then return to the unreadable sky that they were before. _She isn’t going to tie us up and hand us over to the next Rivien patrol that comes through, right?_ I twist my life-ring with one finger and send a prayer to the Starlaxi.

“Then we’ll head _back_ ,” I agree, shooting a warning look at my full-time best friend and part-time complete idiot.

...

As we ride back to the castle, I remind myself that I’m not allowed to be in love with someone I just met. Every time the couple of grins I managed to coax out of Sila return to my mind, though, that conviction slips from my grasp a little more.

Almost drowning, and spending the rest of the day deliberating over how the way one side of her mouth goes higher than the other makes her look like she just killed someone and got away with it… it’s been an eventful day.

Then when she pulled me aside as Fiyr went to pay for our late lunch and whispered that if I needed to find her again, to ask for ‘Vare’ at the same pub. Making a smart remark about meeting up later for proper drinks. The look she gave me; like a language she couldn’t decipher, or berries she wasn’t sure were poisonous or not.

“Graie?”

“Huh, what?” I mumble, startling and swinging my head toward the questioning remark.

“I asked if you think the pine marten might make a good lining for a coat,” Brakken repeats.

I shrug. “Yeah, I d’know. Ask Fiyr, he’s better with the clothing stuff than I am.”

Brakken shrugs and repeats the question for a third time, interrupting Fiyr and Cindra’s heated argument about the superior fruit preserve (Fiyr on peach’s team, Cindra fiercely defending blackcurrant’s valour).

And of course, my thoughts immediately return to the crooked grin of the villager. _Villager?_ my mind reminds me. _Ah shit. What if she’s actually Rivien? But ‘Sila’ doesn’t mean anything, right? What could that be derived from,_ soil _?! Maybe it's a villager name, like Graie. And she pulled my ring out of the sea, so she has either labradorite manipulation, silver, or maybe metal? So Sila’s unrelated. I guess it could’ve just been something important to one of her parents. Silver life-force might be a villager thing, couldn't it? For pots, and stuff?  
_

It’s uncommon for kids to be named after anything other than their demonstration, but hey, look at Sir Cawle or Sir Hartef. _But what am I saying?! She’s not Rivien. Surely not. I saw her with a wagon, she knows about a pub ‘a couple streets from here’ and she greeted the guard at the gate by name._

And she rolled her eyes when I explained life-force rings to her and had a silver band that glittered and—

 _Forget Fiyr, I’m the biggest idiot in the court_!

I didn’t check the Starlaxi-damned Trace! The cruel irony of all the reminders Fiyr and I gave Cindra and Brakken to keep an eye out for Riviens backfiring like this isn’t lost on me. _I just didn’t think I’d have to check for a Rivien right in front of me._

Then a second, possibly worse realization strikes me.

_I may have just flirted with a Rivien._

The thought is… not as sickening as it’s supposed to be. I stare into the snowy forest like it’ll reveal an explanation for the weird dance my stomach is doing if I intimidate it enough. Nope. _Curse you, forest._ But what in the Blacklands do I do now? Sila, or ‘Vare’ as she said I should ask for— _Is that her real name, then? But what could_ Vare _be derived from?_ —won’t be shaken loose from my mind.

_Good. Good. Okay. Good._

I screw up my face like the snow’s getting in my eyes, but I really just want to hide the confusion spiralling out of control inside me. _If she’s Rivien, and if that wasn’t just a fluke… then I might be in deep shit._

But I want to go back. I want to lean over the bar and ask for ‘Vare’. I want to make her mouth quirk up in that same asymmetrical grin that looks like her mouth finds it funny and her eyes scrunch like they’re mad at her mouth for smiling. I want—

_Is this why Fiyr gets so red every time I make a passing remark about Samn? Is this what it feels like?_ Shit, am I feeling regret for needling him so much? Surely not. What in the Blacklands is going on?

_I’ll just meet with her once and find out if she’s really Rivien or not. Then I’ll either leave her alone forever or… maybe… I mean, my mother did it, so why shouldn’t I continue that sacred family tradition? Not like I’m going to be Uniting with someone from Thundria any time soon._

I’m suddenly overtaken by a dizzy, euphoric rush at the thought of Sila coming to Thundria’s castle and meeting the queen and eating dinner side by side with Fiyr and I in the dining hall and being on kitchen duty together— _I could bake for her_ —and—

_I think I might have actually lost my mind,_ I consider.

I look back at Fiyr in a feeble attempt to ground myself— _Can’t forget about our children,_ I think wryly—and exhale slowly. _I’m probably just hopped up on adrenaline from the brush with death. Nothing to do with Sila._

My heart is smiling. I can feel it. What is this shit? _Everything to do with Sila._

“Fiyr, I need to talk to you when we get back to the castle,” I exclaim suddenly, startling Brakken, who was deep in conversation with the ginger knight about fur-lined cloaks and what kind of stitch he should use.

_My heart is smiling._ I need something to eat. I need to sleep. I need to _not_ be wearing freezing cold, still-damp clothes. _I need to Unite with Sila. Shit. No, not that._

Soon enough, after dodging many thoughts of the same type, we reach the base of the trees that Thundria’s castle rests on. Fiyr takes Ashes and Brownie to the patch of leaves that will send them to the top of the trees and I dismount and take Quicksilver and Blitz over as well. I scale the ladder because fuck it, I’m lazy. Fiyr clambers up the trunk awkwardly. _He’s been practicing, hasn’t he. Trying to impress Samn? Impossible. Aloof bastard probably wasn’t surprised when Fiyr nearly blew him up. ‘Pfft, you call that an explosion? Did you know I can hit three bulls-eyes with my balls in boiling water and both my legs covered in ants? Also, I only pretend to hate you because I’m afraid of relying on people the same way I relied on my dad before he died.’_ Idiots.

Am I going crazy?

It’s possible.

Either way, I’m not imagining the furious look on Sir Tigre Cawle’s face when we walk in the doors of the castle, my teeth chattering again.

“Four hours late.” He’s doing that thing where he gets all quiet and stiff and his amber eyes look like they would make a basilisk apologize and promise not to bother him anymore. “Four hours late. Off by the Rivien border. Soaking wet.” Sir Cawle shoots a withering look at Brakken’s two hares. “And what to show for it? Two _bunnies_.”

_It should be illegal to say ‘bunnies’ so venomously,_ I think, trying to hide a chuckle behind a sneeze.

But things don’t seem so funny when Sir Cawle’s cool gaze flits over to me.

“I’d like an explanation. _Now_.”

Time to stop Fiyr from digging us a deeper hole with his ‘helpful’ interjections.

“Well sir, we were just-”

“Actually, let me tell you what happened, Sir Cawle!” Cindra exclaims.

_Oh no._


	9. Chapter 8 - Graie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blessed be Cindra. Graie's pining begins

Chapter 8 - Graie

“Oh, please do,” Sir Cawle replies, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

I’m frozen—well, literally and metaphorically—with shock as Cindra launches into a long-winded explanation of how she didn’t have much luck in her first hunting spot and an absurdly detailed description of how a doe escaped her complete with altogether too colourful metaphors likening the animal to a Ser riding an updraft to escape a Wer. Halfway through, Sir Cawle finally huffs an exasperated sigh and cuts her off.

“Just explain to me why Sir Sterrip is soaked and all you have to show for it is two hares,” he orders, but as Cindra begins to open her mouth eagerly to continue, he massages his temple with one hand and points at me. “Better yet, Sir Sterrip, _you_ explain it to me.”

I rack my brain for an excuse but I’m coming up empty handed—the cold water’s made me sluggish. Or maybe I’m just preoccupied with other thoughts. _I guess it’s going to have to be the truth. Hopefully, he’ll let me out of the castle again in the next year._

“We were by the village of the Sun Rocks and we saw that the Rivien sea was beginning to ice over, so…” I sigh and cringe at the steely set of Tigre’s jaw. “I decided—”

“It was my idea!” Cindra exclaims. “I wanted to see if the ice would support my weight! But Sir Harte wouldn’t let me go so Gr—Sir Sterrip went instead and he fell in but—”

“A villager rescued me,” I interrupt before she can make the fiery scowl that’s brewing in the depths of Sir Cawle’s eyes get worse.

No such luck. Sir Cawle’s face twists first in shock, then in anger. “You… were foolish enough to go along with a squire’s harebrained scheme to check the strength of ice by _walking_ on it, then managed to draw the attention of a villager, whose allegiance is currently to _Rivier_ , an _enemy kingdom_ , need I remind you, who rescued you? A villager—I need to fetch the queen, you all _stay here._ ”

I press my lips together and shiver at the prospect of facing Queen Bluelianna’s ice-cold blue eyes armed with the defense of ‘it was the squire’s idea!’ Especially since I’m going to have to do the talking; Fiyr has a knack for saying the complete and total _worst_ possible thing and there’s no way I’m letting Cindra take another crack at retelling the misadventure. Brakken’s not an option either. He looks like he’s a few seconds away from fainting, face white and teeth gritted.

_Reminds me a bit of Ravne._ My shoulders slacken a little as I remember how he used to get terrified to the point of speechlessness every time the idea of being berated by a figure of authority was even vaguely touched on. _Blessed Starlaxi, I miss him._

“Graie, are you cold?” Fiyr asks nervously, breaking me out of my raven-themed reverie.

I blink at him and rub my hands together, feeling them prickle gently. “Uh, no.”

“Your hand!” Brakken exclaims.

I look down and see that where I rubbed them, I split open my burn again. It looks purplish around the angry red burn, and the rest of my hands have gone pale pink. I rub my hands together, more gently this time, and flinch when I realize I can’t really feel them. _Oh no. Frostbite? Did I really get frostbite on my burn? Fantastic._

But I don’t get to worry over my now-bleeding and pink hands for long because Sir Cawle’s back with the queen in tow.

“Sir Cawle has informed me you tested the ice on the Rivien sea,” she begins coolly, levelling her gaze at me. “Did you—”

She pauses and her eyes flit down to my hands that are still raised in front of me.

“Sir Sterrip, did you ride back with wet clothes on?” she demands.

I nod shakily. “Yes, my queen.”

The queen’s eyes close and it looks like she’s gathering her patience. “Go to the healer’s wing. I won’t risk frostbitten or bedridden knights with this winter shaping up to be one of the worst the kingdoms have seen in a long time. The rest of you will explain to me what has happened.”

I’m torn between selfish relief and concern for Fiyr’s ability to explain the story without digging us a deeper grave. I glance between the queen and the squires and Fiyr, then finally shrug and give my friend an encouraging thumbs-up. _Ouch! Shit!_ My palm rubs against the exposed burn and I wince, feeling sensation slowly seep back into my hands. _Is that a good sign? Ugh. Have to go talk to Yllowei._

Hurrying into the healer’s wing, I flex my hands to try to speed up the process of my blood returning to my hands. _It’d probably be easy for Braukkiniau—er, Braukkin, to deal with stuff like that._ I shiver. _As long as he wasn’t too busy strangling babies._

As I push open the door and enter the sunlit wing, I notice I’m dripping. My cloak got coated with frost when the sea water on it froze. _Maybe Sila’s bar idea didn’t help much after all. Maybe it was just an excuse to—_

“Sir Sterrip,” Yllowei croaks from behind the desk that used to belong to Spottalia Lief. _Before she was poisoned._ I shake off the image of her slumped corpse and more frost from my cloak and walk over to the healer’s desk. “Well, what have you done now, boy?”

_I’m a knight, not a boy,_ I think mutinously, but stretch out my hands for examination. _I guess once you’re that old, even Sir Strommer’d look like a boy to you._

She peers at them and then looks up and me and gives a half-amused, half-exasperated snort. “Explain to me how in the Blacklands you managed to get frostbite _on top of_ a burn?”

I flush. “The burn was from a while ago. I was just out by the Rivien border today and I fell through the ice.”

Yllowei gives me a stare out of sharp yellow eyes. “You… fell through the ice. Why are you standing at the desk? Go sit on one of the beds. I’ll call your squire for fresh clothes.”

I comply— _Not a good idea to pick a fight with the scary old lady—_ and sit on one of the crisp white cots. Despite the state of her desk—namely, that it seems like a paper blizzard hit it hours ago—Yllowei has maintained the healer’s wing with an iron glove that has paid off with a spotless finish on the stone floor, clear windows, and snow-white beds with sharply tucked corners. Duss, in one of his less hostile moments, told me she had them in there weekly, scrubbing floors and refreshing the linens.

Eventually, Brakken brings me sleep clothes but can’t fulfill my request for details about the meeting with the queen because Yllowei immediately barks at him to _give her patient some room, damnit!_

Once I’m changed and feeling drowsy in the warm bed and tucked away from the windows, Yllowei chooses that moment to administer the salve that blazes like coals against my skin.

“Yee-ouch!” I yelp as she rubs it into a sensitive patch on my forearm.

“You want to lose the limb? Hold still,” she retorts. Once she’s finished, I’m finally left in peace, though the peace isn’t worth much since my skin feels like it’s on fire.

I push off the sheet of the cot and stand to leave the healer’s wing and find Fiyr to get the highlights of the meeting with the queen. Yllowei is on me in an instant.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get some dinner?” I ask hopefully.

“You need to stay in the castle for the next week,” she informs me, already retucking the sheets I pushed aside.

“Well, I’m not _leaving_ the castle, I just want to go to the dining hall,” I argue.

She purses her lips. “Very well. But come back in the evening so I can see how the salve is working.”

I nod to appease her and hurry out of the healer’s wing. Thankfully, the open air of the throne room feels better against my flaming skin. It’s almost deserted—most of the court must be in the dining hall. I head into the kitchen—still in my sleep-clothes, I realize too late—and collect a bowl of stewed rabbit with chard and kale.

_Confined to the castle for a week,_ I ponder and sigh. _So I guess I won’t be leaving to go back to the bar for Sila, or Vare, or whoever she really is._ Frustration swells inside me. _Just as things were getting interesting. Blessed Starlaxi, what have I done to piss you off?_

When I enter the dining hall, Sir Strommer, Sir Wynnd, and a few of the ladies of the court toast me with a laugh.

“How’s the water, Graie? Good for a dip later?” Lady Fuor teases.

I roll my eyes at the lot of them and find the squires and Fiyr sitting by the east corner. _All the squires,_ I grumble silently, meeting Duss’s frown. Is it a frown? I think that’s just what his face looks like all the time.

My bowl’s not even on the table before Samn’s making a snarky quip about my choice of attire. _Watch it, Samn. I might be a little more lenient after Sila, but you’re still not getting off scot-free if you’re making fun of my sleep-clothes…_ Sila. I look down into my stew pensively. _Blessed Starlaxi, this is dumb. Why…_

I bite my cheek and start shovelling down stew. Duss makes a grossed-out noise at my eating habits. A moment later, I feel Fiyr’s gaze trained on me.

“Wha’?” I question, swallowing the chewy mouthful quickly and cocking my head at him.

“The meeting with the queen went fine,” he answers my unasked question. “We’re on kitchen duty tonight though.”

Duss snickers. I avoid throwing my spoon at him.

“Ugh. Oh well, could be worse. Glad the squires aren’t getting punished for me being stupid, at least,” I heave a giant sigh.

“Oh, relax, you martyr,” Fiyr scoffs. “Yllowei says you’re good, right?”

I frown at him. “ _Frostbite_ , actually. I could use a little sympathy seeing as she says it’s fatal.”

His innocent green gaze widens a fraction then he catches himself. _It’s too easy,_ I sigh. “Fatal, sure,” he snorts by way of recovery. “I’m surprised she even let you out of the healer’s wing.”

I shrug and my eyes wander around the court. Everyone’s in remarkably good spirits considering the inter-kingdom tensions and the impending winter that, to hear some tell it, is going to wipe out all four kingdoms and the Starlaxi too, for good measure. I only catch one bit of conversation about battle, and it’s from Cindra and Brakken.

_Bloodthirsty squires,_ I think affectionately, then pause when I realize it’s a little less harmless.

“I’m not worried. If he tries anything, Sir Cawle’ll be there,” Cindra points out with a mouthful of stew to her nervous-looking brother, twirling her wooden utensil through the air for effect. “You’d have to nuts to pick a fight with him.”

“Don’t tell me you admire him!” Brakken exclaims.

“It’s hard not to!” Cindra defends. “Imagine being strong enough to protect your entire kingdom!”

 _But he doesn’t want to protect our entire kingdom. He wants to rule. And that’s not always the same thing,_ I reply, feeling a cold chill down my spine despite the inflamed feeling of the salve. _A lot of knights and squires look up to Sir Cawle. He always gave me the heebie-jeebies, but maybe that’s why some of them look up to him anyway. Darriek probably gets ‘creepy stare’ lessons from him._

“Strength can come in many forms,” Fiyr cuts in, obviously having also overheard. “Being good with a sword isn’t the only way to protect a kingdom.”

Cindra shrugged and stuffed another spoonful of stew in her mouth. “I’m just sayin’.”

Fiyr and I exchange a nervous look.

…

“Vare,” I repeat louder, trying to stop my cheeks from flushing tomato-red. Rubbing the patch of healed skin where the burn from the Rivien knight used to be, I wait for the skinny bartender to somehow locate her, or call her up from the floor, or however she’s supposed to appear.

“Wait here,” he grunts in a voice strangely low for such a lean man.

Still leaning awkwardly on the bar, I follow the order while he clomps into the backroom of the tavern. I’m debating giving up and just going back to the court when strolling back through the door comes the skinny man… and Sila.

My heart picks up as I see her, no matter how much I remind myself that the only reason I’m doing this is to assess the potential threat of Rivier on our current claim of the village of the Sun Rocks. _Check the Trace,_ I tell myself, forcing the blush away from my cheeks or anywhere else that blood would be inopportune at the moment.

“So you did come.” Does she sound pleased? I hope so. I can’t tell.

“Yeeep.” _Check the Trace!_ But it’s pretty hard to focus with those pale, diamond-blue eyes trained right on me. “What’s… up?”

She raised an eyebrow. My palms get very sweaty all of a sudden and I try to discreetly wipe them on my pants. “Nothing, really. How have you been? Didn’t catch a cold, did you?”

“Frostbite,” I reply, stretching out my newly dried hands and forearms for inspection.

Sila glances down and places her fingertips on the little ripples of discoloration where the salve did its work. I avoid shivering by a hair as she taps them gently. “Ah, yes. Frostbite, nasty thing… that.”

“Are you two getting a drink, or…” the bartender interrupts.

I’ve never wanted to strangle a villager and thank him profusely so much at the same time.

“Two ciders,” Sila orders for us instantly, then falters and glances at me. “Um, sorry, what would you like?”

“Cider’s great,” I tell the bartender quickly. As he walks off to pour the drinks, I elbow Sila. “Used to ordering for two?”

“They were both for me,” she replies immediately, grinning. “If he doesn’t bring three, I’m not tipping.”

I snicker and as the tension between us eases, my mind starts to ring the warning bells. _Check the Trace!_ As she makes a quip about filling the Rivien sea with cider to improve the quality of life on the shores, I surreptitiously shift— _Shit, she can probably tell._ I never was very good at moving between reality and the Trace subtly. _Man, Fiyr’d be useful right now...—_ and wait for the inevitable sweet taste of life-forceless villagers or—

_Fuck me from every direction and let me die in agony._

Intense saltiness fills my mouth like I’ve just eaten a handful of salt. _Rivien._

I try to laugh but I think it sounds more like a dying fish. She picks up on it (of course she does, I can’t catch a break, can I?) and cocks her head at me.

“I—you…” I trail off. _Well, what do I do now?!_ Most of my plan up until this point had been reliant on her being a villager. Something along the lines of _Find Sila, confirm she’s from the village of the Sun Rocks, fall deeply in love and do adorable couple things together, Unite, live at court together with children running around and die together at the ripe old age of a million._

Something in my eyes must do the explaining for me, because she sobers and looks down. “Yeah. So.”

I’m supposed to say something right now. Damnit, I have a clever comment for every other scenario and I come face to face with a breath-taking Rivien and the well dries up.

I shrug, helpless. “What do we do now?”

In her blue eyes, it’s almost possible to see the defenses going up. “Well, why’d you come here in the first place?”

I hold up my hands defensively. “I dunno! I was just curious about you after the thing with my ring, and your ring, and—I don’t know. This was all dumb. Maybe we should just forget this ever happened.”

Sila’s eyes narrow. “I don’t think that’s possible, Graie. What’s your real name?”

I falter. “Uh.” _Was I supposed to give her a fake name? What a terrible spy I’d make._ “That _is_ my real name.”

“Sir Graie the Gray?” she demands, putting her hands on her hips. “Creative parents.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying. Not ‘the Gray’, though. Sterrip. Graie Sterrip,” I announce, giving her a mock bow.

“I’ll settle for a handshake, I’m not the king,” she snorts, holding out her hand. “Lady Silaverre Strime, at your service.”

_Silaverre… that’s beautiful. But also..._ Something clicks in my brain. “Sila-Vare, silver! That’s how you pulled my ring from the sea.”

Her lips quirk up in a smile. “There it is. Pretty useless, half the time, unless I’m polishing Rappelle’s Galleon’s fourth best set of silverware.”

I yelp. “You Riviens are fuckin’ _crazy_. I seriously don’t know if you’re kidding.”

She shrugs. “Well—no and yes. We only have three sets of silverware.”

Shaking my head, I thank the bartender as he brings back two steaming mugs of spiced cider. Inhaling the autumnal smell, I fight the urge to collapse like a bundle of sticks under the scent of cinnamon and allspice and take a sip. The scalding cider burns my tongue immediately. “Ouch!”

“It’s hot, smarthead,” she teases.

“Smarthead?” I repeat.

Sila—well, Silaverre, I guess—rolls her eyes. “Rivien saying—oh, forget it. I’m sure you _Thundrians_ say equally _smartheaded_ things.”

“Doubtful. Pleased to say that we are a _very_ normal kingdom, thank you very much,” I reply.

“I heard your castle is on top of trees,” she counters.

Awkward silence hangs in the air between us at her misstep. _How am I supposed to answer that? The kingdom difference is all fun and games until she’s making jokes about key pieces of information. Great. Save the conversation, Graie! Or… should I just go?_

“Um. Our castle’s—nice—” I stammer, then shrug. “I’m sure it’s nothing compared to Rivier’s, though. I heard from some squire at a Gathering that you collect seaglass.”

“That I collect seaglass?!” A sudden look of alarm flits across her face.

_What in the Blacklands?_ “No, no, just like, you Rivien knights, I mean.”

Tension eases from her shoulders and she smiles to cover the moment of discomfort. “Oh, for sure. Some of us do, anyway. Someone at court told me that apparently the king’s daughter made a giant fish out of sea glass and that he can hear her talking to it sometimes.”

I laugh. “Didn’t realize King Crukkedaro’s a father. Wonder what growing up with _him_ ’s like.”

A wry grin crosses Silaverre’s face and she shrugs.

“He’s—uh, from what I’ve seen, he’s much more relaxed when he’s not interacting with other kingdoms,” she tells me. “He’s just… very, uh, protective of the kingdom.”

I nod. _I’ve always wondered about the rulers of other kingdoms. Apparently Queen Bluelianna’s pretty hands-on compared, but she’s the only monarch I’ve ever known… Having King Crukkedaro at court all the time… that would be strange._ “A good king, though?”

“Definitely!” she replies with a wistful smile. “Yeah… a good king. A bit overbearing, but strong.”

_Overbearing? Strange way to describe someone who’s literal job is to know all of what’s going on and deal with… everything._ I shudder. “I wouldn’t want to be king. Could you imagine?”

“Really? I think it might be fun.” Those pale blue eyes light with amusement at the thoughts. “Parties, festivals, feasts… and so much power.”

I laugh. “Okay, I’d take the feasts. But the rest of it… I don’t know, seems like a lot of responsibility.”

“Yeah….” she trails off and glances down at the mug that she holds with both hands. Following her gaze, I study the pale, slender fingers wrapped around the metal handle and tankard, each one sporting at least a couple silver bands.

“Silver life-force…” I muse. “So did you make the rings yourself?”

Sila nods. “All except the life-force ring, of course. That was all the Starlaxi’s doing.” I guess there are a few things that unite people from different kingdoms. _Stop thinking about Uniting people from different kingdoms._

While a couple of her rings are just simple bands, others are more intricately formed like the one that takes the shape of an arrow bent around her pointer finger, the pointed tip barely grazing the feathered end when she shifts her grip on the mug of cider, or the one resembling a braid, multiple gleaming strands weaving in and around each other on her pinkie. “Why are some so… fancy… and others are just bands?”

After the words are already out of my mouth, I catch myself and go to apologize for the intrusive question, but she laughs and waves her hand, the silver catching the torch-light and glinting hypnotically.

“Good question. The _fancy_ ones are usually just ones I thought would look pretty,” she answers with a grin. “I suppose it’s a very Rivien thing, beauty for the sake of beauty… aestheticism, it’s called. But the bands… those are—they’re—it’s—ah, it’s sort of a personal thing.”

I nod somberly. _Ironic—beauty being a personal expression is Rivien too, from what I’ve seen of the formal garments in those history texts Fiyr thinks we can’t see him reading._ “Don’t worry about it, it won’t keep me up at night.”

She hesitates and glances around like she expects one of the villagers to jump her with a pitchfork or something, then leans toward me. I’m briefly distracted by how the light reflects in her eyes, caught and reflected around inside until being released in a dazzling display, but then I catch myself and try not to blush too furiously. “It’s… every time I had to give something up.”

I nod, feeling a little dizzy staring into her eyes, then blink. “Give something up? I don’t understand.”

Shaking her head, she glances down. A lock of silvery hair falls across her cheek and I curl my hand into a fist to avoid brushing it back. When she looks back, there’s a question being asked in her gaze, but I can’t figure out what it is. I just stare blankly until she gives a little laugh and says, “I—I’m in a position where… a lot is expected of me, let’s say.”

“Oh. I get it,” I agree.

“So I’ve given myself a new band… every time those expectations have meant sacrificing something—some kind of chance, usually,” she explains, inspecting the rings under the torch light. “Beautiful. Maybe envied. But they weigh on me.”

I’m transfixed by the way her eyes dart over her knuckles, the way her mouth twitches from sad to resigned to angry to rueful and back again, how she lets out a soft sigh… _This isn’t… good. I can’t do this. Blessed Starlaxi, I can’t…_

“It’s nice to finally tell someone, actually,” she breaks her silence and tells me, shaking her head with a sad smile. “I can’t seem to find anyone at court who won’t judge me for who my—um, for who I’m supposed to be.”

“That’s… that must be hard. They should wait and judge you for who you are, right?” I ask, and when she gives me a genuine smile, a happy one this time, I continue. “I—I’m actually half-villager. My father… he wasn’t from the court. No one expected much from me on the life-force side of things. Especially not after Fiyr started wowing everybody.”

Sila tilts her head. “Fiyr… that was the carr—the other knight with you? Back when you… uh, went for a swim?”

_The carr… Blessed Starlaxi, did she—_ “The carrot?” I repeat.

She flushes guiltily. “No! No, I didn’t say that!”

“You absolutely did.” I grin. _The carrot!_

“Okay, maybe his name didn’t stick in my brain as well as his hair did,” she argues. “Can’t fault me for that!”

I laugh. “Oh yeah? But you didn’t say ‘the ginger’ or ‘the red-head’, you said, clear as day, _the carrot_. Blessed Starlaxi, I’m using that next time he and Samn are acting dumb. Did you give all of us nicknames in your head?”

Sila shakes her head quickly. “I didn’t.”

“Oh, there’s no way you didn’t,” I crow. “C’mon, tell me please?”

She’s weakening, I can tell. I crank up the pout, sticking out my lower lip and widening my eyes. Instead of making her cave immediately, she bursts into laughter.

“Does that usually work?” she snickers.

“Yes.” I frown at her and cross my arms. “Don’t disrespect the baby face. Now tell me the nicknames.”

“You’re—you’re—annoying,” she declares, still fighting off giggles. “Has anyone ever told you that? Very annoying.”

“And you’re trying to dodge the question, but Graie won’t be so easily stopped! He goes in for the strike, and she tries to parry, but—Oh!—he strikes the heart of the question! He’s won the match!” I commentate on our imaginary duel. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“Not happening.”

I sigh and drink the last of my cider. “You wound me so. This is only going to work if we’re _honest_ with each other.”

“ _What_ ’s only going to work?” she teases, then her voice drops to a more serious pitch. “But… actually, yeah. What are we doing?”

I tap my chin. “Let’s see. We’re from enemy kingdoms, we’re meeting each other in a tavern for drinks, and now we’re having a nice chat that I am very much enjoying and that I would be very disappointed to see dampened by serious considerations of what the future looks like.”

“The future, eh?” She sets her mug on the bar and puts a hand on her hip. “Our kingdoms’ futures or our future together? A bit early for all that, wouldn’t you say?”

_Our future together?_ Is it a joke? It’s not funny. She’s hard to read. I can’t tell if it’s just jokes or if there’s some undercurrent of interest running through her voice. “Yeah, well, I thought I should consult you on baby names. I always thought naming for life-force is a bit _passé_ as the Shadowes say.”

Sila laughs and picks her mug back up for a sip. “Right you are. We’ll name for obscure historical figures; how do you feel about… hm, Rappellianne?”

“For Rivier Rappelle? I think not,” I counter. “How about Tounderra?”

“Sounds more like ‘tundra’ than Thundria,” she advises. “How about naming them for Wynnd and Shodawa; that would throw them off the trace.”

“They’d never see it coming,” I agree, tapping my temple and grinning.

“Wound and Shoodle,” she announces and I laugh so hard I snort. “Hey! I didn’t tell you I was good at this stuff!”

“You seemed to have Rappellianne ready to go,” I argue, still trying to control the laughter building up inside me again because _Blessed Starlaxi, Shoodle?_

“That’s my father would expect me to name a child,” she replies, glancing away. “Because of course he would.”

“Very patriotic?” I suggest.

“A bit overbearing,” she agrees.

“Just like the king,” I point out. _Maybe she’s the only laid-back Rivien. Certainly seems like a one-of-a-kind… Blessed Starlaxi, I’ve started sounding like Ravne, haven’t I?_

“They’re very similar.” The same wry smirk from earlier is back, though I can’t decipher it.

“In any case, I hope he doesn’t mind you breaking the knight’s code for our world-shattering, destined, chosen-by-the-Starlaxi love,” I deadpan.

“He’ll get over it,” she replies.

The conversation lulls between us again and I wave down the bartender to get another mug of cider. _I still have a few coins left…_ It’s the least my father can do. Silaverre finishes the last of hers and I take a sip of my new one.

“Think he’d be mad if I tried to order two for myself?” she asks in a conspiratory whisper.

“Only one way to find out.” We share a grin as he walks back over.

…

We leave the tavern together with the unspoken agreement that there might be a repeat if we happen to be in the village at the same time as each other again. And maybe I’ll just happen to volunteer for every supply run here and also hunt here and go on Rivien border patrol—

_I’m in deep shit._

What a pack of lies I told myself about this meeting only being to find out whether she was villager or not. _Yes, Graie. Her nationality was definitely the part of her you were most interested in._

The whole walk back to the castle, I’m alternating between giddy and furious with myself. The part of me that’s screaming that I’m going to be hung upside down by my toes by Queen Bluelianna for daring to have an impure thought about a Rivien is attempting to be reassured by another part of me that’s trying to assert that there’s no way anything will happen anyway. _Whatever. Who cares if I occasionally flirt with a Rivien? That’s not strictly illegal. Just gotta make sure it won’t go any further than that. And besides, would it start a war if we just met up once a week or so and had a drink? Unlikely._

Still, I can’t stifle the nervous energy that puts an extra spring in my step. No matter how hard I try to rationalize it away— _Maybe I just need to pee—_ I can’t deny that I hope I’ll see her again soon. I twist my life-force ring anxiously, remembering how effortlessly she launched it out of the grasp of the water and knowing that I won’t look at the silver ring the same way again.

By the time I’m back, there are still a couple hours before dinner. _Fiyr’s probably out on patrol or something… Besides, I can’t tell anyone about Sila, not even him._ That part doesn’t sit comfortably. Willowamina was always telling me that if I had to hide it, I shouldn’t be doing it at all. Then again, I think she meant that more about stealing candied fruits from the kitchen and not… flirting with Riviens.

Strolling back through the doors of the castle with a quick wave to Sir Wynnd, who’s on duty, I catch the glare of Yllowei and flinch. _Ah yes. Wasn’t supposed to be out of the castle for a week…_

I give her a week smile as she half-storms, half-hobbles up to me, already wagging a gnarled finger. “I _told_ you—”

“To stay inside for a week,” I finish, sighing and holding up my hands innocently. “I just wanted some fresh air. I was on the pavilion, that’s all. Didn’t even leave the treetops.”

She squints at me. “Reaaaally.”

“Yeeeees,” I mimic, frowning. _She’s onto me!_

“I didn’t see you leave.”

“I went out a while ago,” I lie quickly. _Shit, I should’ve said I went out through the backdoor… now she’s gonna think I’ve been in the cold air for hours—_

“So you’ve been out for hours?” Yllowei glowers. “Do you _want_ to lose a finger?”

I shrug like a child caught stealing candied fruits. ( _Man, I’m hungry. I could go for some grapes right now…_ ) “No. I just wanted some fresh air.”

“You’ll stay inside and you’ll ask me if you can open the window in the healer’s wing. There’s plenty of fresh air inside the castle,” she announces and whirls around.

“My burns are fine!” I call after her, but she won’t be deterred so easily. _Well, I hope she doesn’t expect me to follow her because I’m going to the kitchen._ I cross my half-frostbitten fingers that one of the villages imported grapes.

When I check the pantry, we, in fact, have no grapes. _It is winter. I suppose I should have expected this._ Can’t help disappointment from weighing me down while I check the other cupboards to see if someone put it in the wrong place, all full with crackers and salted meat and winter apples, but not a single grape to be found. _Damn._

“...all over the place, like it had been a whole patrol.” I can hear Sir Strommer talking in a low tone, obviously attempting to preserve secrecy, just beside the kitchen. _A little gossip with a late lunch, perhaps?_

Gossip is almost as good as grapes. I sneak over to the corner of the kitchen where a gap in the planks of walls of the kitchen allows sound from the dining hall to travel through. _What are they talking about? Something juicy?_

“Not a good sign, especially not after the debacle last month,” Lady Fuor chimes in. “Rivier’s itching for a fight, I’m sure of it.”

“I just don’t know how far they’ll go to get one,” Whit replies, then I hear a sound like him dropping his elbows on the table heavily. “King Crukkedaro Star always struck me as an honourable knight. It’d be a shame to see him turn to a warmonger after all that.”

“We already know he’s a coward,” Liang Teyl puts in. “After what happened at the Gathering with Braukkin a couple of years ago? Too willing to concede too much ground, if you ask me.”

“If that’s true, perhaps he’s trying to reinstate himself as a force among the kingdoms,” Frostialla Fuor points out. “Now that Braukkin’s out, who knows what Rivier’s up to?”

It’s very strange to hear them talk like this after hearing Silaverre talk of him with such pride. _I hope they’re wrong. A battle with Rivier is the last thing Thundria needs._ Plus, it could be bad for me if I was chosen for battle patrol. My stomach turns at the thought.

“Sir Sterrip?”

Tigre Cawle’s cool voice shocks me into jumping away from the wall guiltily. I spin around to look at him and shift, hoping he can’t tell what I was doing. “Er, just… um, inspecting the strength of the wall. Those blizzards, you know, can’t leave anything to chance.”

He cocks his head and regards me with more than a hint of suspicion. I smile widely.

“I think it’s time Brakken and Cindra were assessed,” he finally tells me.

“Sure, sure, yeah,” I agree hastily. “Where to?”

One side of the knight’s mouth quirks up the tiniest bit. “By the Creeping Corruption, I think. Weakened prey will be easier for the squires.”

_By the Creeping Corruption… near the gods’ mansions._ I squint at him, hoping to have some ulterior motive of his revealed. “With Sir Harte?”

“He is Cindra’s mentor, is he not?” Sir Cawle raises his eyebrows, then turns away. “Take them out at dawn.”

_I can’t leave the castle though,_ I want to tell him. Then again… _That didn’t matter much this afternoon. I don’t really want Fiyr to have to be by the mansions alone… and if Yllowei has a problem with it, well, I wouldn’t mind seeing her and Sir Cawle argue._

I guess that settles it.

…

We head out just as the sun’s becoming a butter-yellow sliver on the horizon, without a word of complaint from Brakken and with many, many words of complaint from Cindra. Fiyr tries to interrupt her tirade with more wisdom about how knights aren’t afraid of a little hard work and something about birds and worms, but she’s not having any of it.

“Where are we going?” Fiyr asks me, finally exasperated with her soliloquy.

I glance at the path ahead uncomfortably, then back and him and admit, “Sir Cawle wants us to hunt by the mansions and the Creeping Corruption.”

Fiyr takes the news well, but his brow still furrows. “I see. Any particular reason?”

“The prey will be weak, apparently,” I inform him.

“And also corrupted,” Fiyr finishes under his breath and glances back at the squires. Cindra has launched into a thorough explanation of the benefits of a good night’s sleep to her half-asleep brother. “Doesn’t it strike you as kinda weird that every time he gives us an assignment for the squires, it’s always…”

“Around the gods?” I finish. “ _Can’t_ imagine why.”

Fiyr frowns. “I don’t think he’s just being a dick though, I think he genuinely expects me to go running back to them.”

I cast an eye over Fiyr, on the Brindellia-summoned horse with _Fireheart_ hanging at his side, holding the reins in a loose, practiced grip, a ruby-embedded life-force ring glinting in the weak sunlight from underneath his glove and the thunder-emblem on his uniform bobbing along with the horse’s strides... “Yep. You definitely look like you _just_ left the gods.”

He pretends to swat at me, too far to actually hit me over the head like the gesture implies, then in a more serious tone, says, “I’m not kidding, Graie. I think he’s hoping I’ll go back on my own.”

“Okay, what’s the problem? You’re obviously not going to, right?” I demand.

“Of course not!” he exclaims.

_Unless it’s to visit your sister,_ a mutinous part of my mind whispers, but I shush it. “Exactly. So why does it matter?”

Fiyr looks back at the squires again, once more confirming that they’re out of earshot, and responds, “I’m not worried about him thinking I’m about to run back to the gods. I’m worried about what he’ll do when he realizes that I don’t plan to.”

_He’s not saying…_ “You really think he’d…”

“He tried it with Ravne, didn’t he?” Fiyr answers. “I don’t know. It’s not out of the question. You know I’m a terrible liar; I think he can tell that I know there’s something off about him.”

“Off about who?” Cindra interrupts.

“Off about your little brother, Thorrin. Creepiest baby I’ve ever seen,” I announce without missing a beat.

“He’s only a two years old!” she protests, giggling. “How can a tiny baby be creepy?!”

“He has no hair!” Fiyr puts in. “I don’t trust a man with no hair.”

Cindra doubles over on Ashes and Brakken falls back to find out what we’re going on about. “Are you talking about Thorrin? He’s so cute.”

“Creepy,” I correct. “Creepy baby.”

“Faern and Briatte look creepy too,” Fiyr chimes in. “Not enough hair.”

“But not monster-bald like Thorrin.”

Brakken looks outraged. “They’re just babies!”

“Creepy babies,” I tell him, then shake my head as Brakken begins to look alarmed. “It’s a joke, kid.”

“We’re here,” Fiyr cuts in somberly.

I glance away from Brakken’s chagrined expression to survey the wall that separates our territory from the gods. The wall’s just for show; the thick whitish, translucent crystals that jut out of the ground liberally along it are the real deterrent. The humour falls from my face at the sight of them. _Are they closer than before?_

My gaze finds Fiyr’s as I try to gauge his reaction. The set of his jaw tells me all I need to know; this part of his life isn’t gone from him yet. He dismounts Blitz and turns away from the wall to look at Brakken and Cindra.

“There’s something that I feel like I should tell both of you…” he announces without much fanfare and runs a gloved hand through his hair. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours, but I figured you should know it straight from my mouth.”

“What’s going on?” Cindra cuts in anxiously.

“Shh,” I murmur to her and nod to where Fiyr’s turning to look back at the wall, then back at the squires.

“I was born in a mansion,” he declares. “Until I met Queen Bluelianna and—well, Graie first, but Queen Bluelianna offered me the chance to join Thundria.”

The squires absorb the news in silence, before Brakken says, “You were… a god-toy.”

Fiyr nods with a somewhat-forced laugh. “I—I definitely was. First twelve years of my life, I had no parents and no freedom. I suppose it was comfortable, a warm bed and certain meals, only having to work on performance days, and there was less danger than in the kingdoms…”

At Fiyr’s wistful words, the look of alarm on Cindra’s face grows. I cut in quickly to reassure her, “But he’d never go back.”

“No,” Fiyr agrees. “All of that’s behind me now.”

And though Cindra looks comforted, I can’t help a tinge of doubt. _But that’s not exactly true, is it? He’s been visiting his sister, and she’s definitely still wrapped up in that world._

Exchanging a glance with him, I try to give Fiyr an approving nod, but I can’t help feeling like it falls flat on my face. _He had a comfortable life until we wrenched him out of it. Is freedom really worth trading security for? He’s happy here now, right? I mean, there’s the whole Tigre thing… so I suppose him fearing for his life might be affecting his Thundrian experience. But he wouldn’t have met Samn if he hadn’t joined the court! Fuck that, he wouldn’t have met_ me _if he’d stayed with the gods._

But looking into his eyes, I can’t see much of anything. _I guess we all have our secrets. I just hope his aren’t as code-breaking as mine._

He looks away first and claps his hands. “Well, now that that’s out of the way. Let’s see those hunting skills!”

_Maybe this is just something he needs to deal with on his own,_ I decide and return my gaze to the squires. _If he wants to talk about it, he’ll talk to me. I’m sure of it._ Then again, there are things that I’m not telling him… I shiver in the cold and send a quick prayer to the Starlaxi that Fiyr’s been honest with me about his ties to the gods.

As Cindra and Brakken head off, I glance at Fiyr. He’s still watching the wall.

“Hey, I was—um, I was just gonna make a quick supply run to the village of the Sun Rocks,” I tell him. “We have no grapes. Can you handle the assessment?”

He glances back at me, but his gaze is cloudy, like he’s not really focusing on me. “Yeah, sure thing.”

“I’ll see you later.” I swallow down the guilt in my throat. _We all have our secrets._

_I haven’t broken any laws yet._

I guess I’m not done lying to myself.

_Nothing’s going to happen._


	10. Chapter 9 - Fiyr

Chapter 9 - Fiyr

“I’m the greatest hunter Thundria has ever seen!” Cindra declares jubilantly as we mount our horses in the fading light of the evening sky and head back to the castle.

“Well, don’t get overconfident,” I warn, but she pumps her fist and I can’t help shaking my head.

“Too late,” Brakken mumbles and I chuckle. He doesn’t usually comment on his sister’s antics, but when he does it always makes me think that one day he’ll actually emerge from his shell completely.

I shiver in the frosty breeze. It gusts through the trees and I reflect that I probably should’ve brought the squires in sooner—we’ve missed dinner. _Oh well. I’ll eat alone, I guess._ It might have been an opportunity to find out where Graie went yesterday, since he came back so cheery, but it seems it’ll stay a mystery until he deigns to tell me.

“Cindra, I can carry some of that—” I offer to help her, noticing that she’s lagging behind, Ashes weighed down by a doe. I’m impressed she managed to find it at all, but she shakes her head vehemently at my offer.

“I want to walk into the castle and have everyone see it. Sir Cawle’s gonna be so impressed,” she declares, a fierce glint in her eyes. “He’s going to go,” she puts on a falsetto to ostensibly imitate the knight, “blessed _Starlaxi_ Cindra! You caught so much! You should be queen!”

I double-take. “Hang on, hang on, so the captain of the guard's going to make you the monarch... and also you think that Sir Tigre Cawle’s voice is somehow higher than yours?!”

Cindra shrugs. “Mhmm.”

Shaking my head, I snap Blitz’s reins again to urge her onward. “Looks like the snow’s starting again. Let’s get back to the castle.”

Ashes and Brownie follow Blitz’s lead and we make it back to the patch beneath the castle. I find it through the Trace; the thick snowfall from earlier today covers the conspicuous circle of dirt. We dismount quickly and I grab the icy bark, hauling myself up one step at a time. _Taking the ladder sets a bad example for the squires,_ I remind my arms as they scream in protest. _Even if you have been on horseback the whole day and you really just want to go lie down for a few weeks._

Despite the protests of my joints, I make it to the top without disintegrating and lead the horses toward the back door to the kitchen.

“Wait, wait, I want to go through the front door so everyone sees my doe!” Cindra insists.

I sigh and roll my eyes. Cindra doesn’t see it. “Yeah, alright, but you have to carry it yourself.”

“I’ll go through to the kitchens,” Brakken informs me quietly as Cindra grabs ahold of the corpse. It’s almost as big as she is.

I stifle another eyeroll as Cindra staggers toward the doors and I help Brakken remove his two hares. _She might get praise, but she’ll be getting a backache too._ Well, I think she'll learn. Eventually.

Once the three horses are back in their stables safely and Brakken is helping the groaning Cindra unload her doe, I head back into the throne room to let the queen know how the squires did. I’m intercepted on my way out of the kitchen.

“Fiyr.”

“Samn.”

He gives me a brisk nod, then glances away at nothing in particular before his gaze shifts back to me. “Have you eaten yet?”

_Since when does he care about my eating habits?_ “No? I was out with the squires. Hunting. Um, _they_ were hunting, I was assessing them—uh, no, I haven’t eaten yet.”

He nods, still avoiding my eyes. “Uh, well, me neither; studying for the final assessment and all. So... I was wondering if you wanted to eat together.”

_Yes, I do want to extend this awkward conversation as much as possible, how could you tell?_ “Uh, yeah! I’d love—I mean, I’m hungry, alright.” I give him a thumbs-up, then try to cringe out of existence.

“Great,” he says, and promptly walks off without looking at me.

_Now? Is he going to the kitchen to get dinner? Should I follow him? I have to talk to the queen first. Will he think that I don’t want to have dinner with him if I go talk to the queen first? Because I_ do _want to have dinner with him, but-_

I stop myself and run both hands through my hair. _Just go talk to the queen and then have dinner with Samn. Who cares if he starts without you? It’s casual. Just be cool._

The queen’s just leaving the healer’s wing when I enter the throne room. I hurry over to her, stripping off the heavy winter over-clothes that I forgot to take off when I first came in.

“Your Majesty! I took Brakken and Cindra for hunting assessments, and I wanted to let you know how they went,” I tell her in a rush.

She nods. “I was just about to head to the dining hall. Why don’t you eat with Sir Cawle and I and you can tell me about it then?”

I freeze. “I was—I was actually—Samn asked—um, I—”

“I see.” She grins. “Nevermind then. Tell me now and then we’ll all have dinner.”

_She can see right through me,_ I think, shaking my head with a little laugh. “Yeah, okay. So, they both did very well; Cindra managed to track down a doe and Brakken’s more or less perfected his strategy of blocking off escape routes for hares with his bracken summoning. Really good job by both of them, I’d say. Brakken could probably stand to try something new, but I think it’s still early days, right? So it’s probably okay?”

“What about Graie?” she inquires.

“What about him?” I ask, puzzled. _I wasn’t assessing him, was I…?_

“Where is he? Lady Fennen told me he was confined to the castle for a week.” She raises an eyebrow.

_Oh, shit._ “Uh, I didn’t—um, I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry! But he went on a supply run. I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” I explain in a rush. _Then again, what in the_ Blacklands _is taking him so long? A whole day just for a supply run? I wonder if it’s tied to where he went yesterday…_

The queen waves her hand. “Don’t worry yourself. I’ll have a word with him when he returns; I’m sure Yllowei will have a few words for him, too. From what she’s told me, it doesn’t seem like he’s in danger, only that it will take longer to heal if he doesn’t get any bedrest.”

“I’m glad,” I say, nodding.

“Now go off and—” She pauses and breaks into a coughing fit, turning her head to avoid sputtering in my face. “Excuse me. Go have dinner with Samn.”

The glint in her eye tells me all I need to know. “Thanks.”

I hurry off before she can notice my cheeks are flaming. Dropping my winter over-clothes by the staircase up to the knight’s wing, I make a beeline for the kitchen. The smell of mashed potatoes and roasted pheasant lingers from when the rest of the court ate and it makes my stomach growl.

“What took you so long?” Samn asks, glancing up from the little table in the kitchen. “Ambushed by orcs?”

“Ambushed by the queen. She was just asking about Cindra and Brakken’s assessment,” I explain, piling mashed potatoes onto the plate he’s left out for me. “Thanks for the plate, by the way.”

“Mm. How’d the assessment go?” he asks. I notice a smudge of what looks like ink on his nose. _From studying?_

“Er, good, good. Cindra’s trying to give you a run for your money,” I joke, scrambling to grab my fork before it clatters to the ground. _Please, knock more things off the counter and look like an idiot,_ I tell myself.

He raises a pale eyebrow. “We’ll see about that. How is she? Best hunter Thundria’s ever seen?”

“So she says.” I shrug. “You’re probably still better.”

“Better than the kid? I certainly hope so,” he snorts. “Let’s go eat.”

I follow him into the dining hall, noting that the left side of his shirt has become untucked, poking up out of his pants obstinately and bobbing as he walks. I can’t tear my eyes away from that little scrap of fabric that had fallen out of his control, just drifting along…

“Fiyr? Fell asleep on your feet?” he asks.

I snap back up straight and feel my cheeks get hot. “Your—your shirt’s untucked.”

He glances down and shrugs. “Alright.”

I busy myself with picking out the pattern the oil makes on the skin of the pheasant, refusing to look back at Samn as he leads me into the dining hall. It’s deserted this late, so we pick out a table in the corner. He sits down across from me, setting his plate down and finally tucking his shirt back into his pants.

“Don’t like untucked shirts?” he teases at my visible sigh of relief when it’s fixed.

“Symmetry,” I answer. “It’s supposed to be—oh, never mind.”

Olive eyes glinting in the torchlight, he reaches behind his head and loosen the twine he uses to hold back his hair and pulls it around so it lies on one shoulder. “Does this bother you, then?”

I pretend to shield my eyes. “Ah! Fix it!”

I hear him laugh, then when I look again, it’s back behind his head, but looser and letting strands escape to hang next to his face. My heart thumps but I ignore it and start digging into my potatoes.

“How do you manage outside when the tree branches aren't perfectly identical?” he asks, rolling his eyes. “Seems like a pretty bad weakness to have, doesn’t it?”

I frown at him. “It’s only if it can be fixed. That’s when it bothers me; when I can do something about it.”

“Then if you had tree-summoning, would you be annoyed by the trees since you could make them symmetrical?” he points out. “Everyone would think you were mad.”

“Fiyr Harte, the mad tree-summoner of Thundria. He spends all his days making the trees symmetrical and never gets anything done,” I laugh. “I guess I’ll count myself lucky that I can’t manipulate trees.”

“Just burn them down.”

“Hopefully that’s all I’m burning down.” I can’t help a giggle at the scolding look he’s giving me. _I’ve made it through a few sentences without stuttering and turning bright red!_

Samn glances away and I follow his gaze to where the queen and Sir Cawle are speaking in low tones. _Oh, they could hear us, couldn’t they?_

“Oops,” I mumble, flushing. _Damn it, there it is._ “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

A thoughtful look crosses his face, then he smiles. “I know a good place.”

…

“Are you kidding me? We’ll freeze to death!” I exclaim.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you can summon fire,” he deadpans. “We’ll be just fine.”

He’s brought me to the north tower, the highest point of the castle. I haven’t been up here for a while. I think Sir Cawle brought me up here once to make some point about the frivolity of a past king, Peyenoran or something. _Huh. I guess he was supposed to use his epithet wasn’t he?_ I didn’t even know at the time about the custom of using the titles posthumously. _That’s weirdly disrespectful from Sir Cawle._

Holding my plate tightly like the wind might knock it from my grasp and send the mashed potatoes down to the treetops below, I follow Samn over to the balcony, where he carefully seats himself, then twists to hang his legs down over the edge of the balcony.

“I like it up here,” he announces after a moment of silence. “It’s… quiet.”

I nod, not sure what to say and not wanting to ruin the beauty of the moment. Snow drifts down lazily from the clouds far above, settling on the trees and on the marble balcony around us.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmur, looking up at the moon.

“Didn’t want to be alone tonight,” he confesses quietly as the silence lulls between us once more.

“Didn’t feel like waking up Duss?” I half-whisper back. I don’t know why we’re being so quiet. It feels wrong to speak normally up here, though. Like the Starlaxi might hear you and be disturbed.

“I guess,” he answers, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “I don’t spend every moment with Duss, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I assure him, but can’t help studying his profile in the moonlight. _Really? Seems like they’re together a lot though._ Prin’s warnings about waiting too long come back to me.

“Nights like these are when I miss Dad the most,” he whispers suddenly, and looks away, up at the sky. I watch a tear fall from his cheek in silence, unable to come up with a word of comfort or assurance. I’m totally taken aback at his sudden vulnerability. _Where’s this coming from?_ “I wish I could see him… just—just one more time.”

“I wish I could have met him,” I mumble. _More than that dream._ And it’s true; even though I know no one speaks ill of the dead, everyone seems to still glorify Sir Tayle beyond belief.

“He would have loved you,” Samn laughs softly and without humour. “Everyone else seems to.”

“That’s not true,” I defend. “Sir Teyl doesn’t. Sir Styrp doesn’t. Duss and you don’t.”

“Oh no, I simply hate you,” he laughs, a real laugh this time. “For sure.”

_What? What kind of answer is that?_

“Lying’s wrong, you know,” I tease him, hoping that we can stay off the topic of his dead dad before he actually starts crying.

“Like _you’ve_ been so honest,” he snorts.

“I have! You’re the one who’s always avoiding questions and being all—all—equivocal,” I accuse. My voice goes embarrassingly high.

He _pffts_ dismissively. “Like when?”

“Like before I left to go find Wynnd,” I point out. “You were going to tell me something, so I asked you what it was and you said it could wait until Graie and I got back, but you never told me!”

_The one piece of hope I have about you._

Samn rolls his eyes. “Come _on_ , that was ages ago!”

“There it is again! Avoiding the question!” I exclaim, pointing a finger at him.

He snorts. “Well—but—alright, but I’m under no obligation to tell you everything! Why do you care so much anyways?”

_Why do I care so much…?_ “I care—I don’t know.”

“Don’t you? I could guess.” He’s smirking. Smug prick.

“Well, I bet you’d be wrong!” I snap.

“How would you know I was wrong if you don’t know?” he points out and I swat him. “Oi! Careful! If I fall over this railing, you’re going to the Blacklands.”

I laugh. “You’ll be fine.”

“Fiyr?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m cold.”

There’s a soft _fwoosh_ of air as I bring a spark into the air, then it brightens and intensifies until it’s a proper ball of fire. I’m surprised by how easily it comes, like twisting a faucet handle to bring the water flowing in, and flex my fingers to see how bright I can make it. The fireball spins, widening.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I said ‘I’m cold’, not ‘burn the castle down’,” he exclaims, leaning away from the fireball.

“Sorry… just testing,” I laugh and let it weaken until it would fit in the palm of my hand. “Is this good?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” he murmurs, stretching his hands out to cradle the light from a safe distance. “I’m sorry I lie to you and avoid your questions.”

I can’t help a snort that escapes me. “We’re both guilty.”

The silence falls between us once more, soft as dawn, but this time I feel like it’s building toward something. I have the absurd impulse to scoot closer and kiss him— _Damn it, Fiyr, keep it together—_ when he speaks.

“Here. An apology gift.”

A sound almost like rushing water fills my ears, but a moment later I realize it’s not water at all when a pillar of sand rises from the treetops below and comes up to meet us on the balcony. The top separates, and the rest of the pillar falls back to the ground.

“Some sand? Oh, you shouldn’t have,” I joke. “Really, you’re too kind.”

He sticks his tongue out at me and bring his hands up and then together in a familiar form, his fingers curling down across his palms and resting against each other at the fingernails. At his silent request, I brighten the flames and force them hotter until I can feel sweat beginning to bead on my forehead. He closes his hands until they’re two fists, one clasped around the other, then he pulls the object out of the flames and with a flick of his wrist, sets it in the small pile of snow on his right.

“What exactly is that?”

“Patience is a virtue, Fiyr,” he reminds me with a small grin, and he produces the object from the snow, holding it in one palm.

It’s a glass heart. The moonlight catches in the careful curve of the top and it twinkles with starlight. My breath catches as he reaches out one hand to take mine, pulling it gently out of my lap to him. He carefully places the glass heart in my hand and closes my fingers over it.

“Don’t drop it,” he jokes and lets go of my hand.

I can’t look away from his mesmerizing gaze. “Yeah, okay...”

“‘Cause you like symmetry,” he prompts me, sighing. “You _are_ pretty thick, aren’t you?”

I laugh and pull the heart close to my chest. “Give a guy a heart and then insult him. I don’t know how I resisted your charms for so long.”

He snorts. “It’s a real mystery.”

I finally look down at the heart, running both calloused thumbs over the perfectly smooth surface of the shaped glass. “It’s getting late. I should probably head to bed soon.”

He looks away and back up at the moon. “Me, too. Thanks for keeping me company.”

“Thanks for lying to me and giving me a present.”

“Any time.” He smiles and swings his legs back over the balcony’s rail, then offers his hand to me.

“ _And_ you’re helping me down. Wow, you really are…” I trail off, briefly starstruck by the way his eyes catch the light of the moon. _He’s… he’s..._

“Well. I can take your plate to the kitchen. You should get some sleep,” he finally mutters, looking away and hurrying toward the doorway of the north tower.

I stand there for a moment more, trying to lock the colour of moonlit olive into my memory with my hands closed tightly around the heart.

_Beautiful._

…

I’m just pulling my sleep-clothes over my shoulders when I hear a soft _achoo!_ from the adjacent room. A sinking feeling of premonition drops into my stomach as I quietly pad out of my room and peek into Graie’s.

“Oh—hey, Fiyr,” he greets me. A tuft of gray hair sticks straight up on the top of his head, but it doesn’t distract me from the guilty look trying to creep around the edge of his smile.

I frown at him.

“What?” he asks innocently. My frown doesn’t waver. “Oh… yeah, thanks for covering for me.”

“I thought you were just out on a supply run,” I say mildly, but I think he can tell that there’s no way in the Blacklands I believe it.

Graie avoids my gaze and pulls open his drawers. “Uh. Yeah, I was. Went down to the village of the Sun Rocks to get raisins, remember?”

_He said it was grapes._ Disappointment washes over me. _He’s lying to me, isn’t he? It’s too late for this; I’ll find out what’s going on tomorrow._ “Why didn’t you tell me that you were supposed to stay in the castle?”

As if to agree with me, he sneezes again. “Sorry, sorry. Just thought Yllowei was being overprotective. The stuff she gave me for the frostbite fixed me right up; don’t see why I have to stay in the castle all day.”

I sigh. “It sounds like you have a cold—Nevermind. Okay. Well, I'm going to bed. I’ll find someone else to train Brakken tomorrow; you need to get some rest.”

He nods. “Thanks, Fiyr.”

“Anytime.” But I’m frustrated with his evasiveness, and I think he can tell. _A supply run doesn’t take a whole day. He told me earlier it was just for grapes, and now it’s changed to raisins. There’s still no explanation for where he went yesterday, and he went out training even though Yllowei told him to stay in the castle. Now he’s getting sick for his trouble._

There’s something else going on and I have a bad feeling about it. But for now, I’m going to bed.

…

The next morning, I’m sitting in the dining hall and finishing my breakfast in quick gulps when I decide to go check on Graie. I clear my plate briskly and head up to the second floor, hurrying through the halls of knights and ladies blearily awakening until I reach the hall full of mostly-empty rooms. _Five in the hall... for Duss, Samn, Graie, me… and Ravne._ But not anymore, I guess.

“Graie! Are you up?” I call, not wanting to walk in on him half dressed. When I don’t get an answer, I knock softly on the door.

Still nothing. Trepidation rocking my stomach, I push the door open gently.

He’s not there.

_Where in the Blacklands has he gone so early in the morning? Brakken and Cindra are still eating! I told him he was supposed to stay in his room or the healer’s wing!_ But maybe I’m freaking out over nothing; maybe he went to the healer’s wing early to have Yllowei listen to his cough.

I slip into the Trace, easy as snapping my fingers, and take hold of his familiar trace, like the smoke of a campfire in my nose. With every step out of the knight’s wing and toward the first floor of the castle, my confidence that he only went to the healer’s wing early and I just missed him is waning.

_The Starlaxi damn him to the Blacklands._ He’s gone. Not in the healer’s wing, not in his room—I have a terrible feeling that wherever he’s gone, there’s a reason he’s not telling me. _But I’m not letting him off the hook this time._

“Fiyr!” I hear Sir Wynnd’s call as I’m hurrying back down the stairs, heading for the dining hall to collect Cindra and Brakken for the day’s training.

“Sir Wynnd!” I greet him. “What can I do for you?”

“Other way around,” he informs me. “I’m helping out with training Cindra and Brakken since Sir Sterrip’s confined to the castle.”

_Oh, well doesn’t that just work out ever-so-nicely for Graie._ “Sounds good. I was just going to go get them from the dining hall.”

“Alright, let’s go!” Rynnin agrees, spinning and half-jogging toward the dining hall. “What had you two planned for today?”

_Um. Nothing?_

“I think we were going to do some archery practice, probably,” I fib. “Cindra and Brakken had a hunting assessment yesterday and neither were as confident with a bow as I’d like.”

Sir Wynnd nods enthusiastically. “Sounds good! Let’s do it!”

_Speed life-force, indeed._ Well, it’s nice for someone to be energetic. Winter seems to slow everyone down, but Rynnin’s probably got some sort of built-in immunity. “Cindra, Brakken, we’re going to head out now!” I call.

Cindra shoots to her feet so fast she almost knocks over the bench, Brakken’s weight being the only thing that keeps it in place. “Yes! What are we doing?”  
_I guess she has energy, too._ “Archery.”

She gives me a big thumbs-up and then runs out of the dining hall to go find her bow and winter over-clothes. Brakken finishes his breakfast and collects both his plate and Cindra’s without a word. He’s hard to read at the best of times, but I think I can tell he’s disappointed that Graie still hasn’t shown up for training.

I feel a sudden flash of anger. _Messing around and sneaking off to the Starlaxi knows where is all well and good for squires, but that’s not how it is for us anymore. We have responsibilities. And Graie owes it to Brakken to show up, or at the very least make sure his cold doesn’t get any worse so that he can return to training soon._

Graie better have a really good reason for the disappearances, but I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

“Sir Wynnd, you’re training with us today?” Brakken asks, finally glancing up. Yeah, there’s a subdued look in his eyes. _Damn it, Graie. This kid needs a real mentor, not one with his attention split and not one who’s just subbing in for the day._

“That’s right,” Rynnin agrees, rubbing his hands together. “Better get my coat, I guess.”

“I guess,” I echo, still caught up in bottled-up frustration with Graie.

We both head out to the knights’ common area and pull the heavy coats out of the armoires. When Sir Wynnd and I return to the throne room, Cindra’s trying to balance an arrow on her head.

“Is that… normal?” Sir Wynnd mutters to me.

“Er…” I roll my eyes. “Cindra! Knock it off, we’re going now!”

She startles and grabs the arrow of her head, replacing it in her quiver before it drops to the floor and hurries toward the doors of the castle. Brakken trails after her and I can’t help but fall in step with him as Sir Wynnd runs after Cindra.

“I’m… sorry about the delay in training with Graie,” I mumble to Brakken. “I’m sure the cold will go eventually and he’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” Brakken agrees, but his downcast gaze lets me know it’s not much comfort.

_I’m going to give Graie an earful._ But how am I going to slip away during the training? _I could say I’m making a supply run, ironically._ Well, if it’s been working for Graie, I might as well take a page from his book.

We make our way to the archery fields, riding through the snowy forest on Blitz, Splitsecond, Ashes, and Brownie and making idle conversation. Well, Cindra, Brakken, and Sir Wynnd are making idle conversation. I’m preoccupied with thinking up elaborate theories explaining Graie’s absence and more elaborate ways of hitting him over the head with _Fireheart._

Cindra and Brakken start shooting on the targets, with Rynnin giving them enthusiastic advice and me offering up a ‘good shot!’ occasionally. I can’t bring myself to focus on the training when possibilities run through my head: Graie’s already drowned, or sold his soul to a sea monster, or United with a villager from Shodawa, or gotten involved in a cult.

“Cindra, you can pull back a little further. That’s the way, Brakken, just a titch higher!”

“Sir Wynnd, I heard Nimbo had one of the largest winter apple harvests of many decades and I thought I’d make a quick supply run today to take some,” I announce to the other knight, and guilt twists in my stomach. _Is this what Graie feels like?_

“I love winter apples!” Brakken finally brightens at the suggestion.

_Blessed Starlaxi, is this a punishment?_ I wonder, trying to keep a straight face. “Well, maybe I could drop a couple near here on my way back.” I wink at him and try not to feel like a total monster.

“Sounds good! I’ll hold down the fort here!” Sir Wynnd agrees.

I nod and give him a fake smile, turning to climb down the raised platform and make my way over to where the horses graze in the snow banks. _I’m going to find out. No matter what. Graie shouldn’t have anything to hide,_ I rationalize stubbornly. _He’ll get over it even if I burst in on him with some village boy._

I take Blitz through the forest, back towards the path Rynnin and I took out of the castle to see if I can catch his trace. Despite all my theories, I don’t have a clue where he could’ve gone. _What reason would he have to not tell me? Is he embarrassed? Or is it something more… could he be involved in something illegal?_

_Oh, there it is._ I slow Blitz to a gentle walk to allow myself time to check the Trace more thoroughly. _Definitely him._ I can even sense a hint of illness in his trace. _But where did he go?_ I move Blitz a bit in every direction until I find his path. Straight toward one of the main roads of Thundria; it heads directly toward the village of the Sun Rocks and the cliffs that line the Rivien border.

_Graie, what are you doing by the Rivien border?_ I wonder silently. _Well, only one way to find out._

The journey across the main road only gives me more time to concoct theories for where he’s gone, each one worse than the last. By the time the choppy sea arrives in my field of vision, Graie has been sold to elven slavers and is currently being chopped up into little bits to make jerky for orcs. The trace doesn’t lead toward the cliffside, though. It’s turning a bit, leading me to ride parallel with the rocky cliffs.

_The village of the Sun Rocks?_ There’s a small ray of hope. _Maybe he really_ is _just going on a bunch of supply runs; stocking up for winter and all that._

I ride into the city, uncomfortably aware of every villager’s eyes on me as I pass on Blitz. There’s no way I can hide who I am at this point. My ruby ring winks in the sunlight and _Fireheart_ swings at my side, deterring any potential interference from a villager in my search for Graie. But then again, they don’t have to come jumping at me with pitchforks to be a nuisance; the faintly sweet trace of villagers is almost overpowering here, disguising Graie’s campfire trace in the chaos.

I stop many times, trying to reorient myself and take hold of his trace when I hear a loud laugh that sounds familiar. _So he really did come here._ I quickly dismount and lead Blitz closer. I’ve almost come to the centre of town, an intersection of two cobblestone roads with a fountain placed in the middle.

Villagers walk past or ride by on mules and wagons, but I pay them no mind. My gaze is focused on that tuft of gray hair sticking up. _Damned Starlaxi, Graie. What are you doing out here? This isn’t a supply run district._ The market for farmers and seamstresses is on the east side of town. We are solidly on the west, the long line of taverns, bars, and cafes stretching down the road.

I lead Blitz closer, cursing myself for not thinking to bring something to drape over her to hide her. _But I don’t need to hide, right? I just need to get to Graie and ask him what in the Blacklands he thinks he’s up to._

Finally, there’s a gap between the flow of foot traffic and I spot Graie. He’s not alone.

_Thrice-damned rock-brained bastard!_

And standing next to him is the Rivien knight that pulled him out of the Rivien sea, her head tossed back and her silver hair glinting in the sunlight, laughing at something he’s said. He looks pleased with himself, a pink flush staining his cheeks as she tries to get ahold of herself and his face is turned towards her like—

Like she’s the sun.

_I’m going to kick his ass._

But I can’t bring myself to storm over there and grab him like a pesky child in front of—of— _whoever_ she is to him. No matter what he’s up to, humiliating him won’t achieve much. _Maybe I can just find him when he leaves and then push him off the cliff. And then ask his ghost what in the Starlaxi’s name it thinks it’s doing._

I pull Blitz away and thinking fast, duck into a tavern. There’s a sign of a laughing deer overhead and I hurry up to the bar before Graie can turn and see an obstinately red horse that has no chance of blending in with the mules of the village. There’s a wide enough path to bring Blitz into the building, but from the stairs, it was still a stupid thing to do.

“Hey, can I keep my horse in here for an hour or two?” I ask the barkeep quickly, glancing back at the entrance as if I’d be able to catch a glimpse of the two of them leaving.

“Well… we have stables,” she offers slowly, unable to stop herself from staring at the horse next to me. “Overnight is a copper per stall, three if you don’t have your own feed.”

“No, just for the afternoon,” I correct her.

She blinks. “Er, free of charge, I suppose. Hey, say, aren’t you one of those warrior knight-types—”

“Gotta go!”

I hustle Blitz out the door, ignoring the strange glances from the equally strange crowd. The stables aren’t hard to find. I tie Blitz’s reins to the post and wave her into a stall next to another horse, who is peacefully chomping on grass in the tray before him.

“Make friends,” I mutter to my horse, “and I’ll be back soon.”

The stableboy stares as I dash out the front door, already slipping back into the Trace to catch Graie before he’s completely gone. It’s not too hard to retrace my steps into the main square and follow where the fresh trace leads, especially since I’m not dragging a conspicuous horse around with me anymore.

I find them again as they turn the corner onto a street lined with sweetshops and toy makers. _Come on, Graie._ My theory that it might just have been supply runs after all is crumbling like Samn’s sand pillar from last night. _Why are you with her?_

Graie might be a good liar, but the quick glimpses of his grins that I catch are genuine, his tone unforced and blissfully carefree as the two of them chat. Her salty Rivien trace isn’t fading. _Shit. What am I supposed to do now?_

I could just slip away, collect Blitz, and pretend I never saw a thing. But I owe it to Brakken to at least figure out what in the Blacklands he thinks he’s up to. Graie and the Rivien enter some shop, Seraph’s Confections, as the curly-lettered sign proclaims, and I follow, ducking my head down to hide it in the collar of my heavy coat.

_Good thing the over-clothes don’t have Thundrian emblems,_ I think, grateful to whoever’s decision that was. _As long as I keep_ Fireheart _tucked away and I don’t shake hands with anyone, I could be any bright red-haired village boy._

The smell of the bakery is mouth-watering, honey and powdered sugar mixing with the smell of ripe fruits until I have to consciously restrain myself from drooling. _Just find out what they’re talking about. Maybe Graie’s just spying or something._

Spying while ill, lying about it, and neglecting his training to do it.

_Well, it’s no less probable than the one about elves and orcs._

I take a seat with my back to their table, pretending to slouch over the menu but carefully waiting for any words from Graie or the knight.

“What are you getting? I trust your taste in sweets,” the Rivien laughs.

“Probably the fruit tart,” Graie admits. “Hard to get fresh fruit at the court.”

“I hear you.” She snorts. “Since we only stop once a season, we end up with a lot of preserved foods, dried meats, jams, potatoes… I’ll get the tart, too.”

_Yes, valuable intel, Graie._

“Favourite fruit,” he quizzes.

“Peaches,” she responds immediately. “So good. I would kill you right now for a fresh peach to bite into.”

“I thought we were past the threats of bodily harm stage,” he replies, and I can hear his little grin and—

_Damned Starlaxi! What is he playing at?! What does he mean, threats? Is he saying they used to be enemies, but aren’t anymore? Because he should definitely not be moving past the ‘enemy’ stage with a Rivien!_ I fume.

“Yeah, I’ll have the fruit tart,” Graie tells someone, probably a waiter.

“Me too,” the Rivien chimes it.

I wave the waiter off silently when he stops at my table. He gives me a weird look. I scowl back at him.

They continue their idle chat as I sit there, my anger only further stirred up by their easy banter, like they’ve known each other for years. But it’s not until their tarts comes, not until the Rivien comments “Your blueberries look fresher! Not fair!”, not until Graie laughs and says “You’ll have to pry them from my cold, dead hands before I share.” and I hear a clatter, then a giggle—

I stand up, whipping around, eyes blazing and glower at the two of them, Graie with his hands around the Rivien knight’s wrists as she tries to wrestle away his fork, she’s laughing and shaking her head at him… but they both stop dead when they see me.

“Uh… can I help—” Graie’s bemused question is cut off immediately as his eyes widen with recognition, then his mouth drops open a little wider and he half-whispers, “Oh, _shit_.”

Not missing a beat, I shove my chair out of the way and slam my hands on the table. “Damn right, _oh shit!_ ” I snap, half-ready to throw him out the window. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?! Who in the Blacklands is _that?!_ ”

I can't keep my voice down no matter my earlier convictions that I shouldn't humiliate Griae, and other patrons turn to see what made the loud noise. I pay no mind the the waiter as he starts to wend his way through the tables and over to us.

“Silaverre Strime, pleasure to meet you.” Unfazed, the Rivien stands and offers me her hand to shake.

I scowl at him. “Not the time—wait a second, I know that name.”

Her confidence flickers, and then she gives me a tight half-smile. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I definitely do,” I argue, then pause and have to re-evaluate whether this is worth the time.

“You do not.” Her eyes are lit with a strange urgency.

_That’s not true, I’ve heard her name at Gatherings… Oh, right!_

“You’re the Rivien king’s daughter, King Crukkedaro’s daughter,” I realize, snapping my fingers, then my eyes widen as I realize what I just said and my face whips back to stare at Graie. “Blessed _Starlaxi_ , Graie! You’re sneaking away from the castle when you’re supposed to be getting rest, you’re neglecting your squire, and now you’re meeting with the damned daughter of the king of Rivier?! Have you gone insane?!”  
Graie pauses and I see the conflict between defensiveness, confusion, and guilt in his gaze. “I—I was just… just confirming something.”

I give him a look, something eloquent to the effect of ‘ _are you fucking kidding me?’_ and he wilts under my stare. “Confirming something, yeah. Well. Consider it confirmed. Let’s go.”

_So much for not humiliating him._ When the waiter hears the words _king_ and _Rivien_ being thrown around casually, he backs away and hurries into the back of the shop. Other villagers start to clear out.

Silaverre glances between us and then sits down and pulls her chair back in. “I’m sorry, Graie, I really… _really_ should’ve told you.”

I glance at Graie, puzzled, and see that he’s staring down Silaverre. He shakes his head. “Yeah. You should have. You’re—you’re not just a Rivien _knight_. You’re the daughter of the king.”

Frustrated at where this has gone, I grab his arm. “Graie! Not the point! Either way, you’re breaking the code!”

“For spending some time on neutral territory with another knight?” he protests, though the words sound as though he’s spoken them in his head a thousand times. “What’s the problem?”

“You know _exactly_ what the problem is,” I hiss, and I turn back to Silaverre. “And you! What do you think you’re doing, betraying your kingdom like this?!”

She folds her arms and sips the drink the waiter brought, seeming unconcerned. “I’m not betraying anyone. I’m still a knight, I still patrol, I just go here more often than usual.”

“You don’t think someone’s going to catch you?” I demand. “Wouldn’t your father kill you if he found out?”

She shrugs, lifting pale eyes to give me a look that seems almost smug. “Not if I don’t get caught.”

“Wow, you couldn’t even pick a polite one?” I snap at Graie. He glares at me.

“Shut up.”

“We’re leaving,” I repeat, pulling him away from the table.

He stumbles, fishing in his pocket for coins to leave by their half-eaten tarts, then relents to my tugging and allows himself to be dragged towards the door. I’m so angry I miss the look that passes between them as I haul him out the door.

“I left Quicksilver at the Running Wolf,” he informs me grudgingly.

“Then go get ,” I reply frostily. “I’ll meet you back at that little fountain in a couple minutes. I better not see that Rivien hanging around.” I’m seething.

“I don’t control her,” he snaps back. Before we can get into an argument in the middle of the road, I storm off toward the laughing deer sign to get Blitz. I’m one step closer to leaving this cursed town behind. Despite his noncommittal answer, I find Graie standing in the square as promised, holding Quicksilver’s reins and looking like a scolded five-year-old.

“Let’s go,” I mutter. I’m not looking at him when I quickly swing myself atop Blitz and set off through the roads.

The silence doesn’t last long.

“Okay, explain to me what you’re doing,” I demand.

Graie shakes his head, staring down at his saddle. “I—I don’t have an explanation.”

“Then why did you do it?” I snap, losing patience with his half-answers.

“I don’t know!” he replies, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “I—I don’t know. I’m an idiot, I guess.”

“But you knew it was wrong,” I point out. “So...?”

“So I wasn’t thinking!” he shoots back, then seems to think better of his tone. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“You shouldn’t have met with her at all! Were _any_ of them real supply runs?” I demand, and when the silence lingers, I nearly growl in frustration. “Not one of them. You’ve just been lying for the past three days and meeting with Rivien knights.”

“Just one,” he mumbles.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, _just one_.” He glares at me. “Just one Rivien knight. Stop acting like I’ve betrayed the kingdom in some giant way. It’s a dumb rule; nothing’s going to happen, we’re just .”  
“Friendly and lying to the court about where you’re going. Is it really worth it, being _friendly_ with some Rivien knight in exchange for the trust of knights you’ve known your entire life?” I spit. “Really? _Really?_ ”

“Yes!” Graie snaps.

I stare at him, disbelieving. Not wanting to believe it.

“Graie, you can’t ever go meet her again,” I tell him softly, trying for a gentler tone. _I mean, I guess it’s a disappointment, but he should know better!_

“I’m not going to stop meeting her,” Graie answers, staring straight ahead and not meeting my gaze.

“What?! How can you say that?!”

He finally turns back to me, tears starting to brim in his eyes. I’m taken aback by the utter helplessness of his gaze. “Because I’m in love with her.”


	11. Chapter 10  - Fiyr

Chapter 10 - Fiyr

“He needs to stay in the castle for the next two weeks while getting as much bed rest as possible,” Yllowei Fennen announces, taking her hand off Graie’s flushed forehead. He groans, but Yllowei is less than sympathetic. “You shouldn’t have left the castle when you knew you were sick.”

“It’s just a little cold!” Graie protests.

Yllowei, Cindra, Brakken, and I are all crowded around the cot in the healer’s wing that Graie’s been confined to after Yllowei caught us trying to surreptitiously return to the castle. I actually did get winter apples on our way back, so at the very least it looked like my absence was justified, but Lady Fennen wasn’t interested in any of Graie’s excuses. Especially not after what he did as soon as he got back.

“You fainted,” Yllowei answers unsympathetically.

Graie makes some spluttering half-excuse but she’s not finished.

“Then threw up.”

“Well, I was—"

“I had to stop you from choking on your own vomit.”

“But I—"

“Do you know how I did that? I had to open your mouth and reach in with two—”

“Alright, alright!” Graie exclaims.

“With winter on the way, I’m not taking any chances,” Yllowei adds, and as he breaks off into a coughing fit, her eyes narrow further. “You see? I believe white-cough may be on the rise in the castle and if you’re sick, I won’t risk it worsening or being spread around. As little contact with other members of the court as possible.”

Graie groans again and flops back onto the pillows.

“I’ll need more redroot, the supply here wasn’t properly dried last summer and is rotting,” Yllowei rasps. “Sir Harte, please inform the queen of this.”

I tear my eyes away from where I’ve been pointedly staring at the wall and I nod to her, then glance at the squires. “You two can have the afternoon off. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Cindra gives me a little salute and dashes off to the Starlaxi knows where, but Brakken pauses and glances back at his mentor. After a moment, he seats himself at a chair by the window, still close to Graie’s cot but not quite so close that Yllowei would bite his head off. Yllowei grunts and moves away to go fuss over something else, but I linger, my eyes landing on Graie at last as he stares up at the ceiling, silent.

Things were… not good between us on the ride back. I alternated shouting at him and fuming silently all the way to Nimbo and then back to the castle. Graie didn’t argue much, he mostly just sat on Quicksilver and looked kind of sick. I kept feeling guilty for getting so mad at him, then remembered that he’s the one who should be feeling guilty, then getting mad at him for making me feel guilty, and repeat.

Finally, I tear my eyes away from his upturned face and leave the healer’s wing without fanfare. _Whatever. If he wants to give me the silent treatment, he can go ahead and do it. Makes no difference to me, so long as he stays away from that Rivien._

As I re-enter the throne room, I see the queen exiting her private chambers, flanked by Liang and Darriek. Remembering Yllowei’s request, I hurry up to her.

“Your Majesty, Lady Fennen asked that I tell you that she needs more redroot,” I tell her and she flicks her eyes over me distractedly.

“Yes, yes, certainly,” she agrees, halfway past me already.

“Um, I can—is there anything you need?” I ask. “I can go on a quick supply run—or I could get you—”

“We have no grapes,” she remarks, still craning her head like she’s looking for someone. “Sir Teyl, fetch the captain of the guard. Sir Harte, would you go to the village of the Sun Rocks for grapes?”

I blink. “Just for grapes?”

“Yes, we’re out. Did you hear me?” Finally, her gaze focuses on me, but it’s still cloudy and confused as she presses the order form into my hands. “Leave Cindra here, the elders need their laundry done.”

“Er, right,” I nod, tucking the paper into my belt and hurry back toward the knight’s common area to fetch my over-clothes. _Grapes… wait a minute, didn’t Graie say he was going to get grapes? Well, I suppose he didn’t have much time for supply runs while he was chatting up certain Rivien knights._ I scowl.

Trying to brush off the sullen thoughts, I hurry out across the snowy pavilion toward the knight’s stables. _Guess Quicksilver won’t get any fresh air seeing as Graie’s confined to the castle for_ — _Damn it._ Well, it’s hard to think about anything else when your best friend is breaking the law. _Well,_ broke _the law,_ I amend. _After all, he’s never going to see her again._

I nudge Blitz toward the break in the snow and in the blink of an eye, we’re back on the forest floor. A snowflake lands on my nose and I sneeze.

“Allergic?”

If there’s anything that’ll distract me from Graie, I suppose it would Samn, the walking distraction. I laugh, rubbing my nose as he brings Dune over to where I stand in the clearing. I spot Sir Strommer astride Blizzard and give him a wave.

“Maybe. Would come with the fire elementalist territory.” I shrug and try not to notice how red his nose is— _adorable_ —and how snuggly and bundled up he looks in his giant winter over-clothes.

“Sir Harte! Back in the forest again!” Sir Strommer calls. “Are you catching us some dinner?”

“Unless you want to eat a dinner of grapes, no,” I answer. “Queen’s orders. Headed to the village of the Sun Rocks. I don’t suppose you two are going there too?”

Sir Strommer’s grin at the hopeful tone that’s crept into my voice makes me cringe. _Can Samn tell?_ He doesn’t seem concerned. _Just looking to have some company on a long ride. Not like I’m desperate to spend time with you. ‘Cause I’m not. Well, not_ really _. Maybe a bit though. Not desperate. More like… open to the idea of spending time together._

“We’re headed to the Rivien shore, so we can all ride together,” Whit suggests, his knowing grin still fixed firmly in place.

I redden. “Uh. Great! Sounds good. Let’s go!”

Sir Strommer leads us, riding far enough ahead that we can talk comfortably without him hearing— _Damn it, he planned it like this, didn’t he? Meddler,_ I think, frowning at his back.

“You still have the heart?” Samn asks and I jump a little in my saddle, startled that he remembered, then chide myself.

_Of course he remembered that night! He didn’t hit his head! Blessed Starlaxi, Fiyr. Get a hold of yourself._ I cough and answer, “Yeah, of course! Right here in my pocket.” I hold it up for his inspection.  
“Good. Thought you might’ve dropped it,” he mutters and I can’t tell if it’s a joke or not because his face is half hidden by the giant fleece collar of his over-clothes making him look like a little kid poking his head out of a blanket— _Focus, damn it!_

“Drop it! I would never,” I say, pretending to be affronted and slip it back into my pocket. “Come on! I’m not that mean. Besides, glass is super hard to clean up.”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d smash it! Not on purpose, at least. It’s just that you’re clumsy and… well, I figured it was worth asking.”

I frown at him. “I’m not that clumsy, either. Or at least, I’d be careful with something made of glass.”

“I’d hope so!” he exclaims. “It’s hard to clean up.”

“That’s what _I_ said!”

“I know!”

I laugh and he joins in. _Sir Strommer’s probably stroking his chin evilly and cackling to himself,_ I think, but I can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of me. It’s been a stressful day and for whatever reason, all my excess energy has turned into peals of laughter.

“Did Queen Bluelianna seriously send you out just for grapes?” he asks once we calm down. He shakes his head. “Rough. Especially on a day like today.”

“That’s what I thought!” I cry. “I don’t know what she’s up to. What could we need grapes so badly for? Fruit tarts?”

_Fruit tarts._ I sober suddenly, remembering the explosive argument in the middle of that bakery from earlier this morning.

“I mean—hey, are you okay?” Samn asks suddenly and I freeze.

“Um! Fine!” I exclaim and he stares at me. _Blessed Starlaxi, why can’t I lie to save my life?_ “Something actually happened earlier. I can’t—I probably shouldn’t tell anyone, though.”

He nudges Dune closer to Blitz, interest sparking in his gaze.

_Damn me and my big mouth!_ “No, seriously, I don’t think I can actually tell anyone about it.”

Samn tilts his head. “Not even _me_?”

“Not even you.” I shake my head vehemently, but if anything it looks like it’s just making him more curious. _Shoot. Maybe if I tell him something else… like what? What have I found out about? What else has been on my mind?_ “Um… my sister’s pregnant.”

He lets out a surprised yelp of laughter. “Your big secret is that you’re going to be an uncle?”

I give him a disapproving look but he laughs harder. “Yes! What? What’s so funny?”

“So what? People have kids, Fiyr. You don’t need the talk about the does and the badgers, do you?” he asks, a wicked glint in his eye.

_Abort! Abort! This conversation was a mistake!_

“Well—well—yeah, but it’s my sister,” I explain, waving a hand as though that’ll explain it more clearly for me. “I just—it’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” He’s still grinning and I don’t like it one bit. “People fuck, Fiyr. Why are you all up in arms about it?”

I flush tomato-red. “Yes! I know they—that people—people do _things_.”

“People do what?” He presses his lips together like he’s trying not to burst into laughter at my evident discomfort. “How were you planning on finishing that sentence?”

“It’s just weird that it’s my sister,” I mutter, avoiding his question entirely. “Weird that she’s going to have a kid.”

“Who’s the father?” The giant evil grin finally disappears. A moment later, when I don’t answer, he blinks. “And how do you know about this, anyways?”

“She told me.” I look away, answering his first question in hopes of distracting him from my inadvertent admission that I’m still in contact with a god-toy from my previous life. “I don’t know,” I admit, scratching the back of my head. “She… she didn’t say. But she made it seem like there was something—something going on.”

Samn squints, then all traces of humour leave his face. “Oh—blessed Starlaxi, you don’t think…”

“Well, I don’t know. Until she tells me, I have no idea.”

“How far along?”

“I don’t know! I’m not a healer!” I exclaim.

“Hey, hey, calm down.” He waves his hands like he’s calming a startled horse.

I exhale slowly, trying to relax my tensed-up muscles. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just—it’s so… jarring. Feels like we were squires five minutes ago.”

He’s silent and when I look over at him, he has a single eyebrow raised. It takes me another few moments to figure out why that is.

“Oh! Right, uh—that’s right, my bad.” I flush at my mistake, but he shrugs with a half-smile that’s partly amused, partly sad. “You’re going to be a full knight soon, though, right? You said last night you were studying?”

He glances down at Dune’s reins. “I was. I don’t know when my final assessment’ll be, though. The queen still hasn’t given me a date. Or any kind of indication as to the general time frame.”

I nod. I guess I’m lucky to have avoided the big final test and evaluation that most squires go through; it’s not entirely uncommon for monarchs to just appoint squires knights after battles or some other big show of courage, but still. I pity Samn.

“Are you excited, at least?”

“For the test?”

“To be a knight!” I exclaim, slapping my forehead.

That gives him pause and he glances at me, then back at the path ahead. I can only guess at the thoughtful expression on his face. “I… I guess I am. There’s something that I’m going to have to tell everyone about when I’m knighted, though. But I’m ready.”

“Something you have to tell everyone about?” I echo. “Like a secret?”

He shrugs. “Pretty much.”

Suddenly, the roles are reversed and I’m inching closer to him, terribly curious as to what he’s hiding. “Seriously? Is it something really serious?”

“It depends,” he replies and I frown at him.

“Evasive answers,” I comment. “What does it depend on?”

“How everyone reacts,” he replies, then shakes his head. “I probably shouldn’t be saying this stuff. My assessment’ll be soon enough for it not to matter though, the Starlaxi willing.”

_What could be serious if people react a certain way? What reaction is he looking for?_ “Are you going to tell me?”

He snorts. “Nope.”

I sigh heavily, then ask, “How do you think I’m going to react to whatever it is?”

This breaks his half-resigned, half-anxious composure, at least and he gives a laugh. “I—I don’t really know. Preferably, not much of a reaction at all.”

_More riddles!_ “You really won’t tell me?”

“Absolutely not. Will you tell me what you were worried about that happened earlier?” he probes.

“I—I can’t!” I protest. _Telling Graie off is one thing. Spreading his secret around the court is another bag of grapes entirely._ “Wait a minute—I told you, it’s my sister!”

“You’re a terrible liar.” He shakes his head at me. “Did you think I believed that?”

_Yes_. “Well, no! But—but it’s just that I—oh, forget it.”

“Forget I said anything either,” he suggests.

“I don’t think I can do that,” I tell him. “But I guess it won’t matter once you’re a knight. Hurry up, though, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” he replies, glancing back toward the forest. “You know, I do want to tell you, I really do. But I made a promise a long time ago, and I’m keeping it until I’m knighted.”

I sigh and shake my head. “Man, that just makes me want to know more.”

He laughs. “Okay, I’ll shut up now, but I promise it’ll all make sense at my knighting ceremony.”

_I want to know_ now _, though!_ my inner child wails. “Is… is it bad? Should I be worried?”

Samn’s eyes widen and he looks back at me. “Oh, no, no, not bad, I swear. It’s just that… I—there’s—oh, forget it. I can’t explain without telling you, and I swore I wouldn’t do that until my knighting ceremony.”

_Just keeps saying that. Oh well, like he says, I guess I’ll find out what it is soon enough._

The conversation subsides as it becomes clear that neither of us are willing to give up our secrets. _But he can never know about Graie and Silaverre. Graie’d be ruined._ Soon enough, we’ve reached the cliffs, staring out onto the gray sea, and Sir Strommer finally drops back to ride alongside us.

“Samn, we’ll ride down this way to get to the shore,” he tells him, then looks back at me. “Good luck with the grapes, Fiyr. I’m sure we’ll see you later.”

I pause, glancing between the two of them and force a casual wave. “Yeah, for sure. Maybe I’ll see you on my way back.”

“We’ll be training for longer than you’re getting grapes,” Samn scoffs. “I’ll see you back at the castle.”  
_Oh yeah. Good job using your brain, there, Fiyr._ “Right! Right. Um. Yeah, I’ll—see you later!”

I give them another awkward wave as Whit Strommer, with a last smirk at me— _Damn him to the Blacklands, doesn’t he have anything better to do with his time?_ —and Samn head down the cliffs toward the water’s edge. _Wonder how they’re going to train down there…_ But that’s not my business. Right now, I have a job to do.

Riding back into the village, the deja-vu of this morning hits me like a load of bricks. _The same road and everything._ I have a shiver of premonition as I ride through the crowd of villagers, then fish the paper back out of my belt to see where I’m going. _Vikten’s Vittles,_ I read, then glance up to scan the storefronts for the name. _I think I saw it this morning… by that inn with the deer._

I make my back over to the tavern, stifling a grin when the stableboy scrambles back inside the stables to avoid me. _I’m not leaving Blitz there again. I’ll just tie her to a post outside Vikten’s._

Sure enough, the nondescript wooden building across the street from the Drunken Stag has a little sign hanging on the door labelling it Vikten’s Vittles. I bring Blitz over and find a post on the fence ringing the building to tie her reins to and swing myself off the saddle. _In and out. I’m not hanging around this place any longer than I have to._

I pull open the door and walk into the dimly lit store, making my way through the shelves lined with wares that are terribly displayed, most still in crates or bags. Reaching the counter at the back of the store, I ignore the couple of people leaning on the counter and chatting in low tones and direct my gaze toward the haggard old man who’s arranging something on the counter-top.

“Hi there, I’m Sir Fiyr Harte of the court of Thundria, and I’m looking to pick up an order of—” I break off when an instinctual check of Trace reveals I probably should have taken a second look at the strangers by the counter.

_Salt._

I squint through the gloomy lighting of the store, ignoring the old man and spot the stylized raindrop stitched into the shirts - not shirts, _uniforms_ —of the two strangers. _Blue._

_Riviens._

My eyes dart up to their faces and I see that they’re staring right back. My mind—at least, the part that isn’t consumed by panic—races to try to connect the shape of their faces to the names I’ve heard at Gatherings. _The man built like a boulder is_ — _that’s Stowen Feur. The tall reed with the long black hair… is Bellack Clah. Two Rivien knights, senior at that._

_Shit._

“Um… an order of grapes,” I finish, trying to avoid looking at the Riviens. The village of the Sun Rocks has been back and forth, neutral then Rivien then Thundrian and so forth, and I don’t want to incense the Rivien knights lest I start a fight. _Start a fight against two knights. Two experienced knights._

“Yes, yes, give me the order,” the old man grunts, grabbing the paper from my hand.

“Here—here you are,” I stammer, utterly failing to not stare at the Rivien knights.

The shopkeep disappears into the back room and I’m left standing helplessly in front of the two knights who stare right back, neither saying a word. Finally, I shove my hands in my pockets and pretend to be very interested by the pattern the cut of the wood makes across the counter. The seconds drag on and eventually the old man returns, two bags in hand.

He shoves one of them my way and drops the other on the counter in front of the Riviens, then hobbles back into the backroom. I watch him for a moment, then dart a glance at the Riviens. They haven’t moved.

I grab the grapes and take a slow step toward the door. Finally, Sir Clah picks up the bag and slings it over his shoulder and Sir Feur leads him to the entrance of the shop. I follow, my hand fidgeting in my pocket nervously and leave right behind them.

A voice sounds from the road outside the shop. “Got the jerky? Right, next is a stock-up on arrow heads. Zilfer keeps shooting them over the railing and we’re running out.”

I freeze in the entrance. _I recognize that voice._

The two Riviens continue forward, leaving me behind and Bellack comments, “Sir Baley keeps telling him to pull back farther when the wind starts up instead of aiming better. What would you expect?”

Finally, Stowen Feur shifts away revealing a very familiar woman. _Just my luck._ Silaverre Strime, laughing with Bellack like they’re best friends. And then it gets worse.

Her eyes leave Sir Clah’s face and shift to meet mine. I hold my breath, staring at her like an owl. She glances away without missing a beat and murmurs to Sir Feur, “Thundrians hanging around?”

“Just one, looks like,” Sir Clah replies.

Finally, my brain gets through to my legs and I bolt, hurrying down the street, just trying to put as much distance between me and the Riviens as I can, slowing to a stop once I’m near the outskirts of the town. _Did she recognize me?_

_Of course she recognized you, you idiot! You saw each other this morning! She’s just not completely brainless and knows how to keep a straight face!_

I falter and glance around, trying to figure out what part of the town I’m in, and then promptly realize I’ve made a terrible mistake. _Blitz is still outside Vikten’s. Damned Starlaxi. Guess I’m heading back into the fire._

I keep my head down while I make my way back toward Vikten’s Vittles, avoiding eye contact with the villagers as they pass me. _And a left here…_ I blush, remembering my mad dash through these same streets only a few moments ago and duck my head lower, pulling the hood of my over-clothes further over my forehead.

Once the wooden building comes back into view, I scan the square for the Riviens, and once I’ve located them over by the Drunken Stag, dash back toward the post outside Vikten’s. Blitz gives me a disgruntled whinny but follows easily enough once I tug the reins. I fasten the sack of grapes to her saddlebags and lead her across the square, back toward the streets I took when I arrived.

While we walk, I keep an eye on the Riviens - _To keep tabs on them,_ I tell myself, but I can’t deny I’m terribly curious about this girl that Graie’s so ‘in love’ with. Can’t help hating her, just a little.

_Well, maybe hate’s a strong word…_ But still, remembering how easily he laughed with her, how quick his smiles came… I feel like there must be something wrong between us if he needs someone else to cheer him up. _If something’s missing at court._ Can’t help feeling like I did something wrong.

_She’s pretty, sure,_ I concede, still glancing over my shoulder to glimpse her face. _But would Graie really be taken with her so fast? He couldn’t find someone pretty at court? Or even a villager?_

I realize my hands have balled up into fists and let them go with a sigh. When I glance back at the Riviens, Silaverre’s splitting off from the group and heading toward the north-west side of town. Sir Clah and Sir Feur start off the same way I was going, taking the road directly out of town. I falter and halt Blitz on instinct.

_I’m not taking the same route out of town as them._ I glance around, trying to map the roads out in my head, but I’m hopeless at geography. _Where’s Graie when you need him? In bed because sneaking out to meet his Rivien love is making his cold worse._ Speaking of his Rivien love, she’s heading directly for the cliffs where Samn and Sir Strommer are training.

_She’s probably just headed to some shop that way._ Still, I can’t banish the trickle of uneasiness that runs down my back. _Whatever. I’ll just follow her until I reach the edge of town and then I’ll go back to the castle,_ I tell myself.

Then again… if I wanted to, say, ask her something, now would be the perfect time. Graie’s definitely at the castle, Silaverre’s alone, nobody’s anxiously awaiting my return… _But I’ll just leave the town the way she’s going. No need to ask her what in the_ Blacklands _she thinks she’s up to, or why she and Graie are so taken with each other, or what in the_ Starlaxi’s _name they plan on doing when someone less level-headed than me finds out._ But I’m just going to leave.

Just going to leave.

I’ll just take Blitz right out of here and ignore her while I close the distance between us and—

“ _Silaverre!_ ” I hiss, trying not to alert every villager in a kilometre-wide radius.

She pauses, then turns a little to glance my way. “I was wondering when you’d make your move.”

“I’m not making any _moves!_ ” I snap. “I just want to know who in the Blacklands you think you are!”

“I believe I introduced myself already; Lady Silaverre Strime of the court of Rivier,” she answers with a little smirk that makes my hands ball into fists once more.

I storm up to her, still leading Blitz along with me and glower at her. She stands empty-handed and unfazed in full Rivien uniform in the middle of the street as I plant myself right in front of her, spitting mad.

“Stop meeting Graie,” I order.

Her brows raise and she gives me another infuriating smile. “Why?”

“You _know_ why!” I growl.

Her smile doesn’t waver. “I do? Enlighten me.”

_Wow Graie, I totally understand why you’re ‘in love’ with her, she’s great at being the most annoying knight in the four kingdoms. So talented._ “Because it’s illegal, for one. And for two, Graie’s _sick_ and _sneaking off_ to meet you is making it worse! So just forget about him and he’ll do the same.”

“No,” she replies. “I can’t do that.”

“Because you’re in love with him?” I sigh.

Finally, real emotion flares in her pale eyes and she scowls at me. “Yes. Because I’m in love with him. And he loves me.”

It was easy enough to ignore when it was Graie being dramatic, but now, staring into her stone-cold expression and hearing it come from her mouth, I falter. “That’s not possible.”

“What do you know about love?”

My hand slips into my pocket to curl around the glass heart, but I shoo away the memory of Samn’s eyes in the moonlight and reply, “More than you, if you think you can fall in love with someone in a couple days. Anyway—this isn’t the point! I don’t care if you two have been United in spirit in your past lives or _whatever_ , what you’re doing now is illegal and it has to stop.”

“Don’t try me, carrot,” she snaps, the cool fire in her eyes flaming up again with my ultimatum. “Enough’s gone wrong this week alone that I won’t let Graie go the same way. I really do love him, no matter what you think. We’ll find a way to be together.”

With that, she turns on her heel and starts marching down the road, heading for where it peters off into the cliff that overlooks the Sun Stones bay. I hurry after her, not going to be put off so easily. _Enough’s gone wrong this week_ — _she really does love him_ — _did she just call me carrot?_

“Be reasonable about this,” I shout as she sees me following and breaks into a run. “You can’t just run away from this! You’re going to get caught and things will get a hundred times worse for both of you!”

“Leave me alone!” she calls back. “Go back to your castle and keep your nose out of my business!”

_Blessed Starlaxi, does she have any sense at all?!_ “Stop running!”

Ignoring me, she reaches the edge of the cliff and sits, then twists her body so she’s hanging on to the edge with both hands, then lowers herself out of view. _Is she seriously climbing down the cliff-face? I suppose it’s not that steep here, but still!_

I halt Blitz a couple metres back from the edge and peer down at the bay. My hand tightens around Blitz’s reins when I spot the rowboat on the shore. _More Riviens._ Silaverre makes it down to the pebbly bay without much trouble and walks across to meet the figures in the boat.

_Damn it. No way I can get in another word without the Riviens catching me._

I huff a sigh and with one last glower at Silaverre, turn and mount Blitz. “Let’s get back to the castle,” I murmur.

…

“Your Majesty?” I call cautiously into the healer’s wing, taking a slow step inward. Liang Teyl told me Yllowei had called the queen in to speak to her and that she’d yet to come out. I put Blitz back up in her stable and brought the grapes in to assure the queen I’d filled the order but she wasn’t in her office.

“Hush, boy. You have something for her?” Yllowei hobbles over to me with her usual frown. “Not too close, mind you.”

“Not too close?” I echo. _Yllowei wanted to speak with the queen, I thought, not treat her. Oh, blessed Starlaxi, the queen isn’t sick, is she?_

“That’s what I said,” Yllowei assures me with a wry purse of her lips and waves at me to follow her over to one of the cots by the window. “Don’t spread it all over, boy, but the queen has taken ill.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Okay. Is it… is it bad?”

“The sickness is spreading,” the healer replies grimly. “It is in the hands of the Starlaxi. May they have mercy.”

I reach the queen’s bedside. The grapes lay forgotten at my side as I peer at her ghostly-pale face, its colour drained from it by the illness. Sweat trails down her forehead, beading by her hairline and dripping down to the pillow beneath her, never touching the star on her forehead. That too, has lost colour, only glimmering with weak traces of colour when the light catches it as she twists restlessly.

I don’t have to look at Yllowei to know it’s not good.

“She is strong. She has pulled through greater storms than these,” Yllowei rasps. “She will weather more to come.”

_At what cost?_

“It is in the Starlaxi’s hands, may they have mercy,” I repeat.


	12. Chapter 11 - Graie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops, forgot... about this. Ahem. Here we go I'm back and ready to harm

Chapter 11 - Graie

If I have to spend another moment in this tiny bed, listening to Yllowei Fennen pace around and the queen hack up her lungs, torturing myself with thoughts of Sila’s smile and Fiyr’s rage, I’m going to go insane. Or _maybe_ strangle Yllowei.

“Graie, stay still!” she grumbles as she rewraps my twitching hand. “They’ll be crooked. Stop moving.”

Or maybe both.

“Aaaarrrgh,” I groan, flopping back onto the bed.

Yllowei grunts as she tightens the bandage, then releases my hand that falls back onto the bed limply and stands. “You should not move from the bed today. I will have Sir Harte bring meals to you again.”

I flinch. “How about Brakken?”

“He must train.” She frowns at me. “He will not stay in the castle while you heal. But the queen can spare a knight to train him while you heal.”

_Great._ I groan again and drop my head back onto my pillow. Whatever’s between Fiyr and I, I don’t want to deal with it with Yllowei hanging over my shoulder and bundled up in bandages. _I don’t really…_ ever _want to deal with it._

But I’m going to have to confront it sooner or later. Seems like in this case, it’s going to be sooner. Lucky for me, I have an atlas chronicling the locations of the villages in Thundria’s territory through the ages to pore over until my brain goes numb.

_Therm, Atmo, Aurore, Tormen, Trueno, Ampago—_

Queen Bluelianna breaks into a coughing fit.

I snap the atlas shut and amuse myself by making ashes crawl along the floor toward Yllowei, then stopping them when she turns around. _Not supposed to be using life-force on bed-rest,_ my brain chides me. There’s not much else to do, though.

The seconds tick by, fading into minutes, then hours, until finally the faint torchlight cast into the healer’s wing by the hallway is blocked by the figure standing in the doorway.

“Back so soon?” Yllowei rasps, waving Fiyr, bearing a plate and a nervous expression, inward. “You may stay for an hour.”

_Oh, awesome. A whole hour with my very best friend. What a gift she’s bestowed upon me._ I sit up, eyeing Fiyr warily as he carries the food to my bedside.

“Uh. Hey,” he mumbles.

I look down at my hands. “Hey. Thanks for bringing me lunch.”

“No problem. It’s—um, it’s potatoes and beans. And salad.”

“I can see that.”

He fiddles with his hands as I take the plate and set it down in my lap. After a moment, he carefully perches on the edge of the cot, as far from the shape of my legs under the covers as he can be without falling onto the floor.

“We should talk,” I blurt, then immediately regret it when his gaze swivels away from where he was studying the wall to stare hopefully at me. “I mean—like, we should… we should talk about yesterday. What happened.”

He nods, the same hopeful look in his eye that makes me want to cringe and die. “I could have handled that better; I wanted to apologize.”

“Beans and potatoes is a shit apology,” I remark, chewing a mouthful of the bland fare.

“Blame Lady Tiall, they’re not letting Samn near the kitchen again after what happened last week. Every time his kitchen duty rolls around, they just do it for him.”

_Are we friendly again, then?_ “But… yesterday.”

“Yesterday,” Fiyr agrees, pursing his lips and avoiding my gaze.

After a moment, I realize he’s gauging how far off Yllowei is and whether she’d be able to hear us or not. Over by her desk—we’ll have to be quiet, but she’s probably out of earshot.

“I’m sorry for bursting in on you two, I should have waited until you got back to the castle,” Fiyr whispers, running a hand through his hair. “It—I’m sorry.”

_You should be._ “Thanks.”

“But what are you going to do?”

_Here we go._

“What do you mean?” I dodge the question.

“You know. What are you going to do about—about _Silaverre Strime_?” he whispers the last part so quietly I barely catch it.

I frown. _What am I going to do?_ “I—I don’t know.”

“Are you going to keep meeting her?” he presses urgently.

Ignoring him, I fiddle with the fork, pushing my potatoes around the plate. _Am I going to keep meeting her?_ No matter how I try to cloud the question in reasoning, I already know the answer. But I can’t tell him.

“No.”

_Yes._

“Good.” Relief is evident in his voice and it makes guilt squirm in my stomach, but I keep my expression still. “I’m—I’m glad. I know this has all been—uh, been hard. But I’m glad you’re doing the right thing.”

I nod, careful not to let my irritation show. “Yeah. It was just—just some kind of craze or something. Not a mistake I’ll make again.”

I watch him as his face lights up and he gives me an awkward pat on my knee. _Yeah. I’m doing what you want. Does that make you happy? Now that I’m not interrupting your perfect story, not trying to push to be more than the side-kick?_ I can’t help the bitterness that swells at his delight that I’ve supposedly given up Sila for him.

It begs the question though. Would I choose Sila over him? _I’ll never have to make that decision,_ I tell myself as Fiyr stands, still smiling and promising to return with a glass of the grape juice that Cindra and Brakken made yesterday. _I don’t have to choose. I have the court-me, and the village-me. Half court and half villager. Isn’t that what everyone would expect?_

I watch Fiyr hurry out the door, practically skipping. _Is he really so happy that I’m sacrificing my first real chance at a relationship for him? I guess he’ll be disappointed when he finds out the truth. Which he never will, the Starlaxi willing._

_I wouldn’t have to choose between them,_ I repeat to myself 

…

Eventually, Yllowei lets me out of bed for a couple hours every day, then little by little, outside and onto the territory until I’ve rejoined the world of the living within a couple weeks. No such luck for the queen; she’s still locked in the healer’s wing, wracked with coughing and having to entertain Sir Cawle for reports on the day’s goings-on—not sure which one’s worse. Personally, I’d take the coughing.

Getting back into the swing of training with Brakken has been a bit awkward; I can tell he’s unhappy that I’ve been missing for so long, but that he doesn’t want to blame me for being sick. _Even though it’s kind of my fault,_ my conscience whispers.

“Aim a bit higher,” I suggest to Brakken, only half-paying attention to his arrows, then turn to where Fiyr is desperately try to guide Cindra back to shooting on her own target instead of her quest to split one of her brother’s arrows. “We should get back to the castle soon, you think?”

“One more shot,” Fiyr replies, and steers Cindra’s bow back toward her target for the fourth time. “C’mon Cindra, try for real this time!”

“I am trying!” she insists, giggling and shifting her aim back toward Brakken’s target. “Trying to hit his arrows!”

I sigh and watch Brakken as he aims steadily and shoots an arrow. It embeds itself into one of the middle rings, solidly puncturing the red-painted canvas.

“Well done, Brakken,” I tell him half-heartedly and wait for Cindra to put her bow away before we head back to our horses. As we ride back, I can’t help but to glance at Fiyr and wonder what he’s thinking. _What’s_ _six years of friendship worth if I still can’t read his mind?_

I’m sure he’s glad I’m not meeting Sila anymore. Too bad that’s a lie. I saw her again yesterday; I left on a border patrol with Lady Fyrra and Sir Strommer and promised to go check the far side of the Rivien border. They were more than happy to reminisce while I went off for a couple hours.

An unbidden smile crosses my face as I recall her face when I presented her with the ‘dog’ I made out of paper while I was stuck in bed for a week. It may have looked more like a crumpled up piece of paper that Yllowei hurled across a room when her quill broke and spilled ink all over it, but she appreciated the gesture, at least.

We’re back at the castle after only three awkward attempts at conversation by Fiyr, and I’m hurrying across the pavilion toward the castle doors, when Fiyr offers to take Quicksilver back to the stables for me. _Maybe I’m not as good at hiding it as I thought. Is Fiyr trying to apologize for something? Like humiliating me in front of Sila? Can he tell that I’m still upset?_

I huff a sigh and brush the thoughts off, leaving them in the armoire with my winter over-clothes and I head back toward the healer’s wing to check in with Yllowei.

My entrance is announced to Lady Fennen when the queen sees me, raises her head, and begins hacking out a cough. I hurry toward her desk, anxious to let her know that I’m back so I can go find an excuse to go to the village of the Sun Rocks and see Sila.

“I’m back, but I’m gonna see if I can go back out on patrol,” I tell Yllowei breathlessly.

She looks up at me through narrowed eyes, but then to my surprise, shrugs and stands, her healer robes sweeping over her chair as she pushes it back in. “Very well. After that, though, you’ll be back here. Before dinner.”

I nod, trying not to jump up and down. “Yeah, alright! I’ll—I’ll see you then!”

I’m just rushing back out the doorway and through the hallway when suddenly the doors burst open once more and Duss rushes through them, clutching a piece of paper and breathless.

“Sir Styrp! Sir Styrp!” he shouts, eyes wide with panic as he scans the throne room in search of the knight. “Darriek Styrp! Sir!”

The man stands from where he was sat, conversing with Liang Teyl and crosses the room toward Duss. “Duss? What’s going on? Are you alright?”

Duss is doubled over, clutching his chest and breathing hard, but he manages to push the paper into Sir Styrp’s hands, who, with a raised eyebrow, turns it over and starts reading. After a moment, he freezes and peers closer at the letter, then turns on his heel and heads for the healer’s wing.

“What is it, Duss?” I ask, turning back to my half-brother. “What’s going on?”

“A letter—from Sir Cawle—” he huffs, still trying to catch his breath. “By—the soulpath—and Shodawa—is—”

A shout echoes out from the healer’s wing. It sounded like the queen. I startle, glance at Duss who’s still gasping, and dash back into the healer’s wing. I skid into the room and immediately spot Sir Styrp leaning over the queen’s bedside.

“Sir Sterrip,” Yllowei snaps out, not wasting a second. “Fetch Sir Harte and come back here immediately.”

I’m too thunder-struck to do much more than nod and turn away to run and find Fiyr. Whatever was in that letter, the churning in my stomach tells me it’s nothing good.

“Fiyr!” I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth and heading to the bottom of the stairs of the knight’s wing. “Fiyr!”

A couple members of the court have come out of the dining hall or the kitchen to see what the commotion’s all about, but I pay them no mind and continue shouting Fiyr’s name until he finally appears from the doorway to the elder’s wing.

“Fiyr, Yllowei needs us,” I inform him, already back on my way to the healer’s wing.

“Wha—uh, alright?” he responds, jogging after me as I head back. “What’s going on? I heard Duss yelling. Is everything okay?”

“Sir Harte, Sir Sterrip, good. I must speak to you in private for a moment,” Yllowei orders, waving us back to the far end of the wing. Sir Styrp is bent over the queen’s bedside and Duss is watching the queen too, looking nervous.

I follow her, ignoring Fiyr’s questioning looks and tilt my head at the healer. She turns on her heel once we’re out of the earshot of Sir Styrp and the queen. “Queen Bluelianna will be dead within a week unless we get a new supply of redroot.”

Fiyr breathes in sharply and I manage to avoid reeling back myself. _She doesn’t sugar-coat anything, does she?_ “Where can we find redroot?”

“Gardens of the gods,” the healer replies, rummaging in a drawer in her desk, then producing a sketch of tall red plants that look like field-grass. “Be back by nightfall and we have a chance of beating the sickness back. Not a second to spare. Go now.”

“What about the letter?” I interrupt.

“No matter the letter, boy, _go!_ ” she exclaims, waving her hands to shoo us.

I exchange a look with Fiyr, but before we can set off, the queen shouts from across the room, “I must go! Give me leave; I will ride out this moment to face them!”

“Your Majesty, you must stay there until Sir Harte and Sir Sterrip return with the redroot,” Yllowei answers briskly. “First, you must heal, and leave Thundria’s defense to those in good health.”

“Shodawa is invading, woman! I will not sit idly by and watch my kingdom burn!” the queen shouts, her voice cracking slightly, still trying to get out of her cot.

“Then what? Will you die on your horse, halfway to the battle? Stay there. Sir Cawle will manage,” she snaps.

I freeze. _Shodawa… is invading? The letter from Sir Cawle was to… Blessed Starlaxi, help us. Is he alone?!_

My gaze flicks away from Queen Bluelianna and Lady Fennen’s exchange when suddenly, another member of the court appears in the doorway. It’s Cindra.

“Duss said Sir Cawle sent a letter about Shodawa’s invasion!” she exclaims, dashing into the room. “Is there going to be a fight?”

“Not yet,” Yllowei rasps in answer to the squire. “But the Starlaxi willing, there will be no fight at all.”

“We must ride out to face them!” the queen insists.

“No. We will send Duss back with another letter explaining the situation,” Yllowei snaps. I’m taken aback by her unabashed countermanding of the most powerful person in the kingdom. “Your Majesty, I will bring you paper and ink.”

Cindra interjects again. “But Duss and Eatmy are exhausted! He can’t make the ride again—let me do it!”

“No, Cindra,” Fiyr cuts in. “You’re going to stay here in case Shodawa’s attack makes it all the way back here.”

“Sir Harte, Sir Sterrip, leave now,” Yllowei orders. “Cindra, you’ll stay in the castle. Sir Cawle is not a fool; he would not attack the battle patrol alone. He can go without answer until we have knights to spare.”

Cindra sighs but I’m already halfway out the door. Fiyr follows behind me.

“As much as you can take in your saddlebags!” Yllowei shouts. “Stuff it in your pockets if you must! And return as quickly as you can!”

I grab my over-clothes back from the armoire and all of my anxieties about what Fiyr thinks of me with them then sprint out the doors, beelining for the stables. We mount without a word and gallop across the pavilion to the patch of broken leaves to be transported down to the forest floor.

Fiyr and I ride Blitz and Quicksilver through the forest faster than I think I ever have. The leaves blur into white and green lines that rush past us as the horses speed over roots, rocks, and down paths I can barely see. Still, I urge her faster, Yllowei’s warning ringing in my ears.

Soon enough, the trees thin and the strange wall comes into view. The horses halt and we dismount hurriedly. Without flinching, Fiyr takes a running start and launches himself toward the wall, throwing an arm over the top of it and hauling himself up, easy as a cat leaping atop a fence. After a moment of hesitation, I do the same, albeit with more struggling and wincing.

“This way,” he whispers, waving me down. Fiyr jumps down to the dirt on the other side of the wall and takes off running. I follow him, breathing hard and feeling the cold air rake through my lungs.

We run along the wall until the fountains and hedges turn to marble benches and colourful plants. I pull out the drawing that Yllowei gave me and begin scanning the rows of flora to find the matching reddish grass fronds.

“Further along is the grass,” Fiyr murmurs, seeming half-dazed by the sight of the garden. “Come on!”

I take another deep breath and continue after him. I see what he means in a moment; the diverse array of flowers suddenly gives way to blocky swathes of different types of grasses and low-growing leaves. Soon enough, we’ve found the tightly-bunched red grass.

“She said as much as we can take,” he says doubtfully.

“Then we’d better start gathering.”

In tandem, we begin grabbing handfuls of the grass and yanking it up. It’s surprisingly difficult to tug out of the ground; to get the roots, it takes a strong grasp and a firm pull, which is hard to do with gloves on. I’ve got one armful after many minutes of pulling up handful after handful, and am starting on my second before I notice Fiyr’s paused his gathering and is just looking up at the mansion.

“What? Fiyr, keep grabbing grass!” I call.

A moment later, he seems to snap out of his reverie and spins back to squint at me like he doesn’t recognize me. “The grass? Oh—the redroot—of course.”

Finally, he bends back over and starts pulling up more redroot. I sigh and turn back to my work.

Once we’ve collected as much as we can carry, we hurry back along the flower beds and benches, fountains and hedges until we’re back at the part of the wall where we initially crossed.

“How do we get the root over the wall?” Fiyr breaks our silence by asking the obvious.

_Just like with the soulpath and the wagon, those months ago,_ I remember suddenly and almost want to laugh, or maybe cry, at how much everything’s changed. _This time I don’t think it’ll turn out that Blitz and Quicksilver were actually on this side of the wall all along._

“Throw them,” I rasp, fighting back my instinct to laugh bleakly again. _And this time, this might work._

“Yeah,” Fiyr agrees, and one armful at a time, we launch the grass over the wall, dirt flying from the roots as they go until we’re empty-handed and ready to jump over the wall again.

Fiyr goes first. I follow after a moment of looking at the mansion. There’s nothing special about it; just a giant house, really. The construction of the angles and arches is strange though, too asymmetrical to seem natural. I turn away and take my running start toward the wall, hooking my arm over top and swinging my body over.

We collect up the grass that was dispersed around the snowy clearing when we threw it. Finally, we tuck the bundles into the saddlebags of our horses and mount them again, ready to head back to the castle.

“Fiyr?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever miss the gods?” I whisper, half-afraid to ask it at all but needing to know the answer.

He spurs Blitz into a gallop immediately and I have to urge Quicksilver faster than our normal starting pace to match him. I’m beginning to wonder if he even heard me when he finally mutters,

“I can’t. It wasn’t a real life.”

“You miss your sister, though.”

“I don’t know. It’s—it’s just—I wish we’d both grown up in the court. But I know we wouldn’t be the same people. So I don’t know what I want. I don’t want her to have to live with the gods. I—I want to meet my sister’s baby and be a part of their life,” Fiyr explains, running a hand through his hair despite the breakneck pace of our horses.

“Hang on, your sister’s having a baby?!” I demand.

“You didn’t—oh, right, I told Samn, not you,” he recalls aloud and I can’t help feeling a sting. _So he’s going to be an uncle but didn’t bother telling me. Huh. But oh, of course he told_ Samn _._

“Alright,” I mutter and spur Quicksilver on even faster until the wind whistling past us drowns out any other potential conversation.

We reach the clearing at the base of the castle’s tree and bring the horses over to the patch of grass where no snow has fallen. The moment we’re back atop the tree, I head straight for the stables, ignoring Fiyr. He follows, dismounting and returning Blitz to her stable alongside mine. I keep my mouth shut.

I unload the two saddlebags and sling them across my back, then head back toward the front doors of the castle. Lady Fyrra opens the door for me and I head straight for the healer’s wing. _Not a second to spare._

“Yllowei! We have the redroot!” I call and she meets us at the doorway, taking one of the saddlebags from me and bringing it over to her desk. Fiyr and I bring the other three bags of the grass to her and set them down on the wooden panelling.

Without acknowledging us, she takes a handful of the grass, tears off the roots, and starts grinding them up. We watch her work silently, unsure of what to do with ourselves when finally she says, “Well, don’t just stand there, go see if the queen needs anything.”

Nearly tripping over ourselves, Fiyr and I hurry over to the queen’s cot.

“Anything we can help you with, Your Majesty?” Fiyr asks.

She stirs weakly and eyes us. “Nothing for me, but Cindra seemed rather distraught over the lack of reply to Sir Cawle’s letter. Would you go check on her?”

_Still no answer sent out to him?_ A cold chill creeps down my back. _And somehow the Shodawes knights still haven’t attacked? Something else is at work here._

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I answer, bowing to her and following Fiyr out of the healer’s wing. “If Shodawa’s invading, then why haven’t we heard anything of battle yet?”

“Sir Cawle’s alone.” His voice has a note of worry, and though I can’t forget that he was Fiyr’s mentor, knowing what we know now, I have to sigh at him.

“Sir Cawle can handle himself. Where’s Cindra?” I crane my neck to glance around the throne room, but she’s nowhere to be found.

“You try the elder’s wing, I’ll go to the squire’s,” Fiyr suggests and we split up.

I check in with Heff and Samal but neither of them have seen her since this morning. When I get back to the throne room, Fiyr’s similarly Cindra-less.

“Well then, where did she go?” I ask the air, then spot Brakken by the edge of the throne room, pacing and twisting his hands. “Brakken! Where’s your sister?”

“Sir Sterrip!” Relief colours his face. “You need to go after her. She left to tell Sir Cawle that the queen couldn’t—”

“She _what_?!” Fiyr shouts, alarmed anger sparking in his gaze. “To the soulpath?”

“Yeah—yeah, where Sir Cawle—” Brakken stammers.

“Why didn’t you stop her?!” Fiyr yells, his cheeks flushing angry red. Brakken turns white as a sheet in the face of Fiyr’s sudden lurch into fury and stumbles back a step.

I grab Fiyr’s arm. “Hey! Take it _easy!_ There’s nothing to be done now! We just have to go get her; this isn’t Brakken’s fault.”

Fiyr’s breathing hard, but he backs off from Brakken and whirls around. “Come on. Before she gets lost or eaten or kidnapped or—”

“Fiyr, shut up!” I hiss as Brakken looks more and more green. “We’ll find her, don’t worry. We’re going to go find her. If you’re gonna say anything to him, it better be something reassuring. Don’t be an ass.”

Fiyr grits his teeth and then turns back to my squire. “I promise, we’ll get her back unharmed.” He stares at the doors of the castle as his hands tighten into white fists.

“Brakken. It’ll be okay.”

He nods, still looking ill, and stumbles back another step.

Fiyr is halfway across the throne room when I catch up with him. “What in the Blacklands was that about?” I hiss under my breath.

“She told him! She told him she was leaving the castle and he did nothing!” Fiyr explodes.

I smack his arm. “Fiyr, he’s a kid! You can’t expect him to be responsible for his sister, no matter how mature he acts! Ease up a little, Cindra’s not in any real danger yet.”

“You’re right.” Fiyr deflates. “Let’s just go find her. I’m—I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Though I’m not going to exacerbate his fears, I know what he means; there’s a strange weight in my stomach as we head back to the stables again to take out Blitz and Quicksilver once more. A Shodawes invasion that has gone hours without producing itself, Sir Cawle alone somewhere in the territory, and Cindra heading for a soulpath… I press back against my panic, knowing I need to be clear-headed right now.

Once we’re on the forest floor, we bring our mounts in slow circles, in the Trace and searching for Cindra’s imprint on the silent second world. After a few tense moments of combing the air... “Found it!” Fiyr shouts.

He takes off into the forest and Quicksilver gallops after him. My stomach rebels, but I tighten my grip on the reins until I can feel my knuckles whitening inside my gloves. The horses’ hooves pound through the forest, flying across the path and following Cindra’s trace all the way to where the glittering of the glass becomes visible through the trees. It’s a thin path, only just visible from where we’re standing.

We slow until we can dismount and stand next to the path. “Cindra!” Fiyr shouts.

“Cindra!” I add my voice to his.

We walk a little way up the path, still trying to follow the trace that’s being muddled by the soulpath until we find a place where the ground cuts away sharply where the soulpath slices its way through the side of a hill. Fiyr barely stops before he tumbles over the edge of it.

“The trace—the trace stops here,” he rasps, but I can’t hear him. I’m peering down over the hill to where a form lies motionless besides the path.

A young girl, curled over herself with her knees drawn up to her chest, is still. The kind of still that means one thing. We’re both stunned out of words for a moment.

“Cindra,” I whisper.


	13. Chapter 12 - Graie

Chapter 12 - Graie

“Cindra, can you hear me?” Fiyr pleads as we crouch beside her slumped body.

I have a sinking feeling that she’s already on her way to the Starlaxi, but somehow, her hand twitches and she lets out a soft cry of pain. A voice that hardly sounds like mine says, “I think she’s still out. We have to bring her back to the castle.”

Relief floods me at her movement, but Fiyr doesn’t seem so quick to celebrate her miraculous survival. He reaches forward tentatively to take the hand that’s holding her legs underneath her and moves it away.

“Oh, blessed Starlaxi,” Fiyr whimpers. “No, this can’t be real—I can’t—”

As if in a trance, he takes hold of her shoulders and carefully rolls her over. Her left leg slips free of her arm’s grasp and extends naturally, but her right leg stays bent and—

“No…” I mumble, barely able to believe what I’m looking at.

Cindra’s right leg lays on the ground at an nauseating angle, her calf twisting away from her thigh in a way that shouldn’t be possible. Right at the knee, a solid shell of pearly glass has formed around her leg and, reaching up and down from the central bubble, long spikes of corruption sit, gripping her leg like some kind of terrible plant, creeping over her knee and restraining her calf at that sickening angle.

“God-corruption,” Fiyr chokes. “How—how did this happen?”

Suddenly, the sound of someone trampling through the underbrush alerts us to another arrival. My head jerks up to scan the trees for the source of the noise when Sir Cawle pushes his way through a bush.

“Sir—Sir Sterrip? Sir Harte? What’s happened?” he rasps, then his eyes land on Cindra’s prone body. “Oh, blessed Starlaxi, is that Cindra?”  
Fiyr tears his gaze away from his squire and glares at Tigre, his eyes brimming with rage and tears. “Yes! You asked the queen to meet you, but Cindra went—and now—and now she’s hurt!”

Sir Cawle seems too startled by the sight of Cindra’s wrecked leg to react to the furious accusation and I know Fiyr is three seconds from jumping the older knight screaming ‘ _This is all your fault!’_ so I take a deep breath and intervene.

“Sir Cawle, your letter said Shodawa was invading?” I demand, grabbing Fiyr’s shoulder before he flies off the handle.

“They sent a scouting party into the territory,” he growls. “I let them go because I was waiting for the queen to come.”

_How would you and the queen have fought off an entire patrol of Shodawes knights?_ I wonder silently, but there isn’t time to pick apart his story. Cindra needs help. Fiyr slips from my grasp with a soft cry and drops to kneel beside his squire’s motionless body. “We have to get Cindra back to the castle. Is there danger from the Shodawes knights?”

“Not—not immediately,” Sir Cawle admits, his gaze still stuck on Cindra. “They’ve returned to their territory, but I have no doubt in my mind that they won’t stay gone for long.”

“Cindra’s our first priority,” I decide. “Fiyr!”

He looks up from her body, eyes ringed in red. The angry adrenaline that flooded him at Sir Cawle’s arrival on the scene has obviously left again and he’s trembling. “We have—we have to save her, Graie.”

“We have to get her back to the castle first,” I reply grimly, “and then Yllowei will do what she can. Come on, can we strap her to Blitz? You can ride with me on Quicksilver.”

Fiyr, looking moments from doubling over and being sick, nods and reaches out to take Cindra’s shoulders with shaking hands. I have my doubts about his capability to lift Cindra safely, but there’s no time; I’m no healer, but it doesn’t take someone chosen by the Starlaxi themselves to know that she needs help, and she needs it now.

“Sir Cawle, please… please help,” Fiyr half-whispers, staring up at the stone-faced man.

For a moment, I see genuine guilt in his eyes, then he kneels and carefully slides an arm under Cindra’s back, lifting her into a mock-sitting position. Her head lolls forward, gray hair spilling out of her hood and forming a curtain that hides her deathly-pale face.

Forcing down my revulsion, I kneel and grip her good knee, hooking my arm underneath it to support her better. _I have to—I have to touch it—_ There’s no time to fear what damage the corruption could do, no time to worry over what it might be capable of—I hook my other arm under the corrupted knee.

Sparks burst behind my eyelids and it feels like I’ve stood up too fast, then the feeling is gone as fast as it came. I take a deep breath. _Please don’t kill me._

“I’m okay,” I grunt. “Let’s lift her.”

The three of us stand slowly, bringing Cindra’s body with us to where Blitz paws the ground, huffing unhappily. I try not to notice how light Cindra is, like she’s already being lifted away to the Starlaxi… _No_. For her sake, for Brakken’s—we have to get her back to the castle.

We lay her down across Blitz, making makeshift ties out of the straps of the horse’s saddle in an effort to secure her on horseback. I can only hope she’ll stay on there the whole ride back to the castle; we can’t afford to waste time trying to strap her down more thoroughly, but if she falls off, the Starlaxi knows what damage she might take. It’s a no-win situation. All I can do is send a quick prayer to the Starlaxi and hope.

In a half-trance, I mount Quicksilver and wait for Fiyr to scramble up behind me with Blitz’s reins in hand. “Let’s go.”

Not a word passes between us on the ride back to the castle.

…

Sir Cawle is the one to carry Cindra through the doors of the castle, silent as death with a steely glint in his eye that tells me no matter what treason he’s committed against Thundria, this has hit him hard. It’s nothing compared to Fiyr, though. He held up well during the ride back, but now I can hear his laboured breathing as he chokes back more sobs.

While Tigre carries Cindra to the healer’s wing, I drop back to fall in step with Fiyr.

“There was nothing you could have done,” I murmur.

Fiyr lets out a half-laugh, bitter and strangled, making me flinch. “Nothing. I couldn’t have taught her obedience? I couldn’t have made her stay at the castle? There wasn’t _anything_ I could have done? I couldn’t have been a better mentor?”

His bleak tone shakes me.

I recognize it.

_I couldn’t have noticed we were next to the cliff? I couldn’t have held on, even when he burned me? I couldn’t have fought him off before he slipped?_

“Fiyr, _no_ , you couldn’t have,” I snap. “And it doesn’t matter if you could have. Living in the past won’t help Cindra _now!_ ”

It doesn’t even seem like he can hear me as he buries his face in his hands and lets out a low cry. “She’s going to be crippled, it’s not going to heal, the corruption’s going to kill her, she’ll never walk again and it’s _my own fucking fault!_ ”

Half the court freezes when he screams the last part. I glance around at their raised eyebrows and cocked heads and swallow down explanations. Fiyr needs me now. I press down a surge of fear as I notice that a flicker of what looks like flame starts from his curled fists that are pressed against his eyes, then dances down his wrists… _His life-force. Shit._

“Fiyr, listen to me.” I grab his shoulders, trying to keep my tone level and strong even when the world feels like it’s keeling sideways around me. I can’t help the harshness that seeps into my words. “Cindra needs you _now_. She needs her mentor, someone with a head on his damn shoulders, not a wailing mess. Get a hold of yourself. You can cry once she’s safe.”

Something registers in him and his stuttering breaths start to even out. Before anyone but me has noticed them, the flames putter out. “Okay—okay, I’m okay. She’s going to be okay. Right?”

“Come on.” I steady him and start toward the healer’s wing. “Sir Cawle’s brought her in.”

Before we’ve gotten even halfway across the throne room, I’m stopped as someone runs up to us.

“What’s going on?” Samn demands, his eyes wide as they flick from me, to Fiyr, to the healer’s wing, and back again. “I saw Sir Cawle bring Cindra in—what happened?”  
Fiyr’s still soldiering on toward the healer’s wing, abandoning the arm I was using to support him, so I let him go and answer Samn.

“Cindra was hit by a soul.”

The news drops his mouth open, but nothing comes out.

“Yllowei’s tending to her now,” I mumble, and without waiting for a reaction, head for the healer’s wing once more.

“Is Fiyr…” Samn interrupts, then trails off, his gaze following Fiyr’s back as he walks into the healer’s wing. “Blessed Starlaxi.”

I follow Fiyr in, Samn on my heels, still trying to form a sentence. Tigre’s already laid Cindra down on one of the cots next to the queen and Yllowei is standing over her, her face set in harsh lines.

“Sir Harte, Sterrip,” she greets us tersely, not looking up from Cindra’s prone form. “Samn, fetch water.”

I don’t see the squire’s reaction, too focused on Cindra. In the light of the healer’s wing, the damage seems worse than ever. Her limbs are scratched up from presumably being thrown through the underbrush after the soul hit her, but...

It doesn’t hold a candle to her leg. It’s not just the glassy corruption encasing her knee - there are strands of corruption _under_ her skin, running through her veins and up her leg, glittering in the light—I feel sick.

“Everyone stand back,” Yllowei orders suddenly as she lifts her arms to hover her hands above Cindra’s body.

I’m shaken out of my anguished stupor by the order, but follow it nonetheless, backing up a couple steps. Fiyr and Sir Cawle follow suit. The queen lifts her head weakly from the cot next to Cindra’s.

“Yllowei—no, it could kill you—” she rasps urgently, but the healer’s eyes flutter shut and I feel a wave of life-force roll over me.

Dumbstruck, I watch as the healer’s face stiffens in what looks like pained concentration, then she clenches her open hands into fists.

“Don’t—” the queen shouts but whatever command she was about to issue is drowned out by a sudden _fssss-pop!_ And then the world goes white.

A sound like a dozen windows shattering at once slams into my ears and I crumple in pain, my shout mingling with the sound of sizzling and popping, the world flashing white and pink and blue and searing cold—

Then the feeling rushes out of the world like a wave crashing against a beach and then retreating again. Silence. “What—in the _Blacklands_ —was that,” I groan.

When I blink and survey my surroundings, it becomes immediately apparent that in the split seconds of agony and pretty colours, I must have dropped to the ground. Fiyr is next to me in a heap of freckled arms and a face crumpled in pain and after a moment, pushes himself to his feet with a wavering groan of pain.

Yllowei spits something that I’m mostly certain is an Old Shodawes curse. I see her push herself up using the frame of Cindra’s cot, then watch her face slacken as she looks at Cindra.

“It didn’t work,” she rasps.

“You. Will. Not. Try. Again.” The queen’s voice is ice-cold. “You could have killed us all, meddling in gods’ affairs. It was far too dangerous.”

_What did she do? Her… life-force? Was she trying to heal Cindra? Blessed Starlaxi, if the corruption can repel life-force, then what…_

“I don’t know what else to do…” Yllowei voices my fears in a croak. “Your Majesty, I—”

“You will heal her by herb. If the corruption resists that too, then we will look into other options.” Despite the queen’s state of illness, her voice is the most in control I’ve ever heard it. Yllowei opens her mouth again, then closes it, then dips her head.

I glance at Fiyr, then back at Cindra’s leg where the corruption glitters complacently, not even a gouge-mark in its too-smooth surface. Fiyr is staring at it too, though his eyes are unfocused and I’m not certain he even knows what’s happening around him.

“Are you alright?” I mutter to him.

“Hm?” He flinches then his gaze focuses on me. “Uh. That was weird, wasn’t it?”

“No shit,” I say, eyes still trained on his blank expression. “You fell.”

“So did you,” he answers, looking back down at Cindra.

I stand, staring at him for a few more moments. I’m relieved that he’s not on fire anymore, at least, before it hits me what I have to do. I gather my resolve, then turn to leave. “I should go talk to Brakken.”

Fiyr nods absently, his gaze already sliding back to Cindra.

With a heavy heart, I leave the healer’s wing and start looking for Brakken. I nearly crash into him.

“Sir Sterrip!” Brakken exclaims, reeling backwards, then lurching forward again, eyes wide.

“Brakken.” My heart sinks further looking into his big, scared eyes. _He’s so… young._ “Brakken, your sister… Cindra—Cindra got hurt.”

His face turns alarmed and the force of his innocence feels like it’s going to crush me. “Hurt? How—how badly? Is she going to be okay?”

I reach out and take his shoulders. “Yllowei’s with her. She’s not awake yet. I think you should go lie down before you go to see her. She’s—she’s alive, Brakken, and Lady Fennen is very experienced—”

Brakken’s eyes are filling with tears rapidly and my stomach lurches. I’m beyond unprepared to help him through it when I’m still grappling, and I feel my heart crack a little more as he whispers, “Is Cindra going to die?”

I swallow back a sob. “No—Brakken, she’s going to be okay. She’s going to be okay.”

His face crumples and he steps forward, wrapping his arms tightly around me and burying his face in my uniform. When he speaks, I can feel his voice in my chest.

“That’s what Sir Harte said… and now she’s hurt…”

I can’t give him an answer. I just hug him tighter and try to press my lips together hard enough to make the tears leave my eyes, dispel the stinging, just keep it together for Brakken’s sake—I’m crying again.

_So fucking young. Why?_

“Can I see her?” Brakken’s voice shakes, but his request is unmistakable.

I falter. “Buddy, I don’t think that’s a good idea right now… she can’t talk to you yet.”

“I want to see her,” he insists.

“Go to the healer’s wing, then. Just—she’s going to be okay,” I repeat with no idea how I can brace him to see his sister’s broken body.

He nods and gives me one last hug and stumbles toward the healer’s wing. I watch him go and bite my lip, squeezing my eyes shut and trying not to sob openly again. _Come on, Graie, get it together._

I stand there for a few more moments, taking deep breaths and slowly feeling the precarious misery leave me, just a deep sorrow left behind. How long it takes, I don’t know, but I’m brought back to the present when Samn hurries past me, leaving the healer’s wing. I didn’t even see him enter the healer’s wing, but I suppose he brought Yllowei the water she asked for.

“Samn! Is Cindra… any better?” I ask, jogging across the throne room to catch up with him.

He glances back with an expression that I recognize as forcedly emotionless. “In the past three minutes? No.”

I try not to scowl at him. “Where are you going?”

“Getting Lady Fuor,” he answers shortly, speeding up and ducking into the hallway that leads to the elders’ wing.

_Lady Fuor._ Cindra’s mother is going to have to see her daughter, her twelve-year-old daughter, unconscious with a leg snapped like a twig and corrupted—

I feel like I’m going to throw up.

_I need to get out of here._

…

The next morning, I look out the window to see that the wintery scene of the past month has been turned into a downright wasteland of white.

I only have a moment to enjoy the view before yesterday crashes into me and I drop back into bed with a groan. _Oh, blessed Starlaxi._

But I can’t hide from it; not in my bed, not out in the forest… and certainly not at the village of the Sun Rocks. Cindra’s hurt. _I’ll check on her,_ I decide, trying not to feel guilty. _There’s nothing I could have done last night anyway. No one missed me, I’m certain._

I dress numbly, already bracing myself for the bleak expressions and murmured words of the day. The kingdoms are good at shaking off tragedy; in an environment where we’re faced with death more often than not, you get good at figuring out a way to manage. _Light as a feather, quick as a storm._ I’ve heard villagers mourn for months. Must be why it took so long for me to be able to think about Sir Calew without breaking down. _Thanks, dad._

There won’t be anyone at court shaking off this so easily, though.

On my way to the healer’s wing, I can tell the news has spread fast. Everyone’s face is lined with solemnity and the usual commotion and chatter in the throne room has dulled to a murmur.

I haven’t taken two steps into the wing before Fiyr appears right in front of me, a deep scowl twisting his face. He’s pale as a sheet, but when the light hitting his face shifts slightly, I see that his undereyes are dark like bruises, dark purple by his nose and fading into a greenish yellow shade at his temples.

“Fiyr.” I can’t manage more than that, not even a ‘good morning’ when he looks like he’s ready to knock my lights out. _Did he find out somehow? How?_

“Where were you last night?” he spits.

_So he doesn’t know. Maybe he suspects. Remarkably perceptive of him._

“I went to bed early,” I lie easily, not letting the guilt slide onto my face from where it rests like a stone in my stomach.

“We have rooms next to each other, Graie, I know that’s not true.” His voice drops to a whisper as Lady Tiall enters behind me, heading for Cindra’s cot. His anger wavers, turning halfway to sorrow then back to fury. “Where. _Were you_.”

_Think fast._ I don’t like lying to him, but he’ll be far angrier if he knows the truth, and he doesn’t need that stress right now. “I went to check on Quicksilver first; we were riding a lot yesterday and I wanted to make sure she was alright.”

Fiyr sucks in a sharp breath, then steps around me and storms out of the wing. I watch him go, puzzled. He turns on his heel and waves me after him. Shrugging, I follow him out the doors of the castle to the pavilion, shivering as the chilly air bites my uncovered cheeks and hands.

The moment we’re both outside, he spins around and glares at me, his green eyes glittering like daggers in torchlight. “Graie, you went to see that Rivien knight again.”

I keep my face as impassive as I can manage. “No.”

He gapes at my denial. “I know you’re a liar! What—I—I sensed your trace last night, and you’re lying to my fucking face!”

_Caught._ “If you knew I was lying, then what was all that shit about where I was last night? Why did you even ask?”

Fiyr dismisses the blatant attempt at distraction with a wave of his hand. “That’s not the point! I—I can’t believe you! Cindra gets horribly injured, Brakken’s a wreck, and you’re off screwing the enemy! And lying to me about it! Graie—”

“Fiyr, I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to…” I trail off, trying to come up with a lie, or some way to spin this, or _something_ , anything to make him stop looking at me with that wounded, furious look. Empty-handed.

He stares at me, then shakes his head with a laugh like broken glass.

“Okay. Okay, I’m going to go back to the healer’s wing. You’re going to go comfort Brakken, _be_ there for him for once in your damn life,” he snaps, the accusation leaving me breathless for a moment, then continues, “and the next time you feel like sneaking away, you’re going to tell her that was the last time—no, scratch that. Just avoid her. Never talk to her again and she’ll take the fucking hint. Maybe no one will find out about it if you’re lucky.”

The torrent of anger, sorrow, frustration, disgust at myself, and misery swells until I’m powerless to stop my instincts from grabbing the first thing that feels like I have control over. “Why should I stop meeting her?! It’s the same as you meeting your sister!”

Fiyr jerks upright at the accusation, his eyes flashing and I actually worry for a moment that he’s about to slap me, or maybe tackle me and throw me off the tree-tops down to the ground far below, but all he says is, in that too quiet, too-level voice, “That’s not true. You know it’s not. Save your excuses. Go help Brakken before—just—just go.”

My fists tense, anger building at the orders and assertion that somehow _he’s_ above the code and I’m not, but I force it back. _I need to go to Brakken. He’s right about that, at least._

I storm off, not waiting to see if he tries to call me back, or looks regretful at all— _But why should he? You’re the one who’s such a fuck-up,_ my conscience sneers at me.

Before the frustration can pool in my eyes and turn me into a sobbing wreck before the sun’s halfway across the sky, I shove it all away and head for the healer’s wing.

“Brakken,” I call to him from the doorway, opening my arms to embrace him.

He looks up, and I lose my breath for a second. My meticulous, mature, attentive-to-grooming squire’s eyes are bloodshot, his nose is running, and his hair is sticking up. I can see pink indentations in his cheek where a sheet or pillow must have pressed into it during whatever minutes of sleep he scraped together in the last eight hours. He’s a mess.

Our eyes meet, then he looks back down at his sister. It looks like he dragged one of the chairs by the desk over to her cot so he could sit next to her—all night, I’d guess, based on his appearance. I’m nonplussed by him ignoring the offer of a hug, drop my arms, and move to stand next to his chair by Cindra.

“How… how are you holding up?” I mumble, considering a hand on his shoulder and deciding against it. _If he denied the hug, I don’t know what’s going on in his head._

“My sister got hit by a soul,” he answers, and from his tone I have the impression that he’s said that multiple times already today.

I falter. “Brakken… I’m sorry…”

“Don’t leave again,” he whispers, still staring at Cindra’s expressionless face.

My heart seizes and a tear finally drips over my cheek. “I’m sorry,” I repeat, desperately wishing that there was anything I could say that would comfort him.

“The queen died yesterday,” Brakken tells me suddenly, his voice flat.

I inhale hard, spinning to look at the cot where the queen was yesterday. She’s there, sitting up and speaking with Yllowei in low tones. Sure enough, colour has returned to her cheeks and the star on her forehead has dulled to almost-white. I’m not sure how many Blessings she has left.

I put my arm around his shoulders and bend down awkwardly beside him, giving him a one-armed squeeze. He doesn’t respond and I let go again and straighten back up.

“She’s going to wake up,” I tell him.

Before he can give me another hollow, heart-breaking answer, Yllowei leaves the queen’s side and comes over to us. “Sir Sterrip, Brakken, I need to speak to you and Sir Harte.”

I flinch. Brakken doesn’t volunteer to get him. Yllowei’s gaze turns on me.

_Damn it._

“Okay, I’ll get him,” I mumble, heading out of the room as slowly as possible.

Fiyr’s standing in the throne room, speaking in low tones with Samn. _But he doesn’t need to be at Cindra’s bedside every second, because the rules don’t apply to him. Of course, how silly of me to think he’d hold himself to the same standards as everybody else._

“Sir Harte, Lady Fennen wants to speak to you,” I announce stiffly, not meeting either of their eyes.

Samn raises a single eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest, eyes flicking between us. ‘Sir Harte’ nods and I recognize the steely glint in his eye out of the corner of my own. _Civility in front of the court. Or maybe just Samn,_ I sneer silently. _Can’t look bad in front of Samn, of course. But he’ll be back to normal as soon as we’re alone, I’m sure._

Still avoiding Fiyr’s eyes, I turn on my heel and head for the healer’s wing. The sound of his boots on the stone tells me he’s at least following orders from Yllowei, even if I’m the one delivering them.

When Yllowei sees us return, she waves us over to her desk where Brakken is already sitting, his face tight and nervous.

“Sir Harte, Sir Sterrip,” she greets us, her face set in a grave expression that makes my heart sink. “Cindra… I believe she will survive this.”

Brakken and Fiyr let out whooshing breaths in tandem. There’s still a tightness in my chest though, further compounded by Yllowei’s face not changing.

“But…” She takes a deep breath and levels her grim gaze at each of us in turn. “I cannot remove the corruption. It could take months for us to find a solution, or days, but I won’t give you false hope. Her leg is likely going to heal wrong and she may not walk again. There’s simply no way she’s going to become a full knight.”


	14. Chapter 13 - Fiyr

Chapter 13 - Fiyr

It’s either morning or the Blacklands and frankly, I don’t care which.

Everything’s blurred together since Yllowei announced that Cindra wasn’t going to be a knight—wasn’t going to _walk—_ anymore. It feels like the last few days have been some kind of horrible nightmare, but no—it’s all too real.

The snowstorm outside rages, while the storm inside stays cold and still and inescapable. _She’ll never be a knight. She’ll never walk again. She’ll never be a knight. She’ll never walk again._

I’m standing by her bedside, watching her chest rise and fall silently. It’s better than being in my room, not knowing if she’s still breathing, and finding out whether Graie stayed in the castle last night. _Would he leave twice in a row? After what’s happened?_ I’d rather not know.

My thoughts finally leave Graie when Cindra groans.

“Cindra!” My heart jumps into my throat as her head shifts a little, then I watch, amazed and terrified as her eyes blink open. “Blessed Starlaxi—you’re—you’re awake.”

“Ow,” she rasps, no volume behind it, still blinking, and slowly, her gaze turns to me. “What—what happened? The letter…”

“Don’t worry about the letter,” I whisper, not trusting my voice to stay steady. I take a deep, shaking breath, and call to Yllowei by her desk and Brakken in the cot that the healer set up for him, “She’s awake!”

Brakken’s out of bed and across the wing in a flash despite how tired he must be. I know he hardly sleeps, tossing and turning and peeling off his sheets and then wrapping himself in them again, and seeing him half-revived lights hope in my chest.

“Cindra,” he whispers, staring down at her in a daze.

“Hey,” she answers, her brow furrowing in pain as she tries to shift, then concentrates harder, and she lets out a cry of pain.

“Don’t move!” Yllowei orders from across the room, hobbling toward us and using her healer staff as a walking stick.

“My leg hurts,” she whimpers. “Did it break?”

My heart’s still stuck in my throat, halting any words of comfort I might be able to come up with for her. I stare helplessly down at her as she tries to push herself up and look down at her leg, wrapped in a thick coat of bandages but unable to hide the formation of the god-corruption.

“What happened?” she asks again, louder this time, looking up at me with wide, scared eyes.

“You were hit by a soul,” Yllowei tells her as gently as I’ve ever heard the old healer speak. “Your leg broke. It must stay wrapped while I help it heal.”

Cindra glances from me to Yllowei. “But—but I can feel—it’s wrong, it’s wrong, what’s wrong with it?”

Tears pool in my eyes and I grit my teeth, trying to suppress them. “Cindra… the soul hit your leg and it… it’s got some kind of corruption on it.”

Cindra stiffens and pales with alarm, but Yllowei puts a hand on her shoulder. “We aren’t certain what’s happened, or what it will do. There’s no reason for panic yet; it hasn’t done anything to you in the past days, and we’re working on a method of removal.”

“It’s corrupted?” she echoed, not seeming to have heard the healer. “My—my leg? Will it heal? When can I get back to training?”

Brakken lets out a choked cry and Yllowei interrupts once more before the panicked look in Cindra’s eyes can worsen. “Brakken, Sir Harte, give her some space. Cindra, we’re working on a cure, but I won’t give you a guess for how long it will take until I know more about the problem, yes?”

Cindra nods bravely, but I know she’s terrified and it’s breaking my heart.

“Cindra, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay,” I tell her, my voice wavering.

She looks to me and I can see how desperate she is to believe it.

“Brakken, fetch your mother,” Yllowei orders. “Sir Harte, I believe Sir Sterrip may want to see Cindra as well. Try not to spread the news around, though, or the wing will be overcrowded.”

I nod tersely, watching Brakken glance back at Cindra once more, and then he hurries away before she can see the tears that spill down his cheeks. After a moment, I follow him.

_Graie’s in his room… I hope…_ I think, climbing the stairs to the knight’s wing with my jaw set. _What do I do if I get there and he’s gone?_ For once, at least, he’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, an atlas open in his lap. A cough shakes him, then he clears his throat and returns to studying the book.

“Graie,” I call softly, knocking gently on his door so I don’t startle him.

He glances up and purses his lips when he sees me. “Fiyr.”

Silence hangs between us like an unwelcome guest until I finally sigh and say, “I’m sorry I shouted at you yesterday.”

His gaze is unreadable. “Apology accepted.”

I wait.

He doesn’t apologize back.

“Cindra’s awake and Yllowei thought you might want to see her,” I tell him and leave, not bothering to wait for his answer.

_Guess that’s that, then,_ I think, balling my fists and stomping down the stairs like a child. _He doesn’t think he’s done anything that warrants an apology. Or else he’s not going to bother apologizing. Bastard._

On my way back to the healer’s wing, I’m stopped when Samn grabs my arm.

“My half-sister’s demonstrating!” he exclaims, then pauses when he sees my face. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. We… we should go see. Unless… is the demonstration going to be dangerous, do you think?”

He tilts his head. “Could be. Brindellia’s in there now with them, though.”

I peer at the nursery entrance and catch a glimpse of… green? _What’s going on in there?_ I exchange a glance with Samn and he shrugs, then walks over to the doorway to look in without getting too close. When I follow him, I realize that the green that I spotted is the far wall—and it’s covered in plants.

“Plant-summoning,” I murmur and he nods in agreement. “Wonder why her life-force demonstrated now. And what about the other two?”

That’s when things start going wrong.

Samn and I both jerk back as a scream rings out from the nursery.

“Mom!” he shouts and throws himself through the doorway, leaving me behind. My heart beats in my ears and I follow him in a half-trance, fearing what I’ll find within. Brindellia is standing over the three cradles, her hands over her mouth and her eyes wide.

“Mom, what happened?” Samn asks urgently.

“Samn, their pulses—I can’t—they’re not breathing,” Brindellia breathes, one hand fluttering toward the two cradles on the left.

Samn hisses in a breath and my heart feels like it’s the one stopping. _No, blessed Starlaxi, no, no, why?! Hasn’t the court suffered enough?!_

He reaches down and scoops one of the babies up in his arms, then jerks his head back toward his mother in a panic. “He’s so cold—Mom, I think—”

Brindellia lets out a cry and I pick up the other baby.

“Samn, we should take them to the healer’s wing,” I whisper urgently as Brindellia’s eyes stay locked on her son’s face, unseeing and full of pain.

I hold the child close to my chest, trying to ignore how limp she is— _she’s just asleep—_ and cold— _the air in here’s cold,_ I tell myself. My hands are shaking. He looks at me and for a moment, his gaze is just as empty as his mother’s, until he blinks and gives me a sharp nod.

We carry them to the healer’s wing, leaving Brindellia to stand alone in the plant-filled nursery with her last child— _No, these ones will survive,_ I tell myself fiercely. Yllowei looks up from where she’s standing with Lady Fuor, Brakken, and Graie by Cindra’s cot.

One look at our grim faces and the babies we’re holding tells her all she needs to know.

“Bring them over here,” she orders, waving off Lady Fuor as she makes a move to help. “What happened?”

“We don’t know,” Samn whispers, hurrying over to the healer. I recognize the choked off voice. “One of them was demonstrating… but these two are so cold… I don’t think they’re…”

Yllowei takes each baby from us in turn and by the way she swallows and sets them down, I have a feeling I already know what she’s going to say. She opens her mouth, then pauses and glances at Samn, then takes a deep breath and says, “I’ll prepare them for burial.”

Samn lets out a short cry and before I can think better of it, I wrap my arms around him and pull his head to my chest. He lets a sob ring out but my uniform catches it and it’s muffled. I feel as his chest is wracked with another wail.

I meet Yllowei’s eyes over his head and she gives me a nod, seeming to be steeling herself before she turns back to the still children on the desk. Samn rocks in my arms for a moment, still crying, but then he grips my arms at the shoulder and pulls himself away.

“How…” he whispers, reddened eyes searching my face before his slack face begins to crumple into another sob.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper into his hair as he falls back into me.

“They’re dead, Fiyr, they were just… just babies.” His sobs turn into hiccups, and then just stuttering breaths. “Why…?”  
I shake my head and hold him tighter. I don’t know how long we stay this way, but it’s long enough for Graie to come over, meet my eyes, then return to Cindra’s bedside wordlessly. I don’t have the energy to feel angry with him.

Eventually, Samn pulls away from me again, and without a word, he leaves the healer’s wing. _He has to go tell Brindellia…_ Imagining her face when she learns of what’s happened hurts. Without a second thought, I follow him.

The nursery is still covered in plants— _Ferns_ , I realize dully. _Huh. What’s the chance of two bracken-summoners in one generation?_

I enter on Samn’s heels and we both halt when we see Brindellia in the middle of the silent nursery, rocking her final child.

“Faern,” she whispers and presses the baby to her chest, bending her head over it like she can shield it from all the horrors of the world. “Faern.”

The reaction I imagined was wrong. She already knows. _Of course…_ I think, swallowing and watching her cradle the baby, _Faern_ , closer. Samn goes to stand before her without a sound. He embraces his mother as she continues to whisper _Faern._

Feeling out of place, I look at Samn one last time, worry for the both of them building, but they need each other right now. And I need to go to Cindra.

It’s when I’m leaving the nursery that I suddenly know the answer to my earlier question. I turn to leave, but I pause when the way the ferns are growing on the wall catches my eye. _The window… is broken. That must be why it’s so cold in here. The blizzard must have broken the window._

 _Why did her life-force demonstrate_ now _?_

The ferns are strewn across the broken window, trying and failing to keep the wind out; sprigs of green grow thickly in the cracks of the stone bricks where drafts could get in—

_She was trying to save her_ _._

My heart twists and I back out of the nursery.

_It wasn’t enough._

I hurry back to the healer’s wing, breath catching in my throat. _Blessed Starlaxi… why did you have to take them so young?_

“How is she?” I ask Lady Tiall, who has returned to Cindra’s bedside.

She glances at me and I see the sobre look in her eye. “It’s in the Starlaxi’s hands.”

I can’t help it; anger begins to boil inside me. _Why? Why is it all up to them? Why can’t we fight for her? There must be something we can do!_ “Can’t we do anything?”

Yllowei intervenes. “Sir Harte, we need more redroot. The supply you and Sir Sterrip fetched us won’t last if things continue as they are. Ride out now and come back as quickly as you can.”

I nod and swallow down my anguish. _I can cry later. The court needs me now. Those of them that are still alive, that is._

…

As I’m pulling up handfuls of slippery, thin red grass, my head jerks up at the sound of boots crunching through the snow. My heart jumps back into my throat, but I almost melt with relief when I realize it’s my sister.

“Prin,” I gasp, sagging at the near-miss. _If that had been a god… or…_

“Rossy! I mean—I mean, Fiyr,” she corrects quickly, staring at me with her mouth open. “You—well, you look like shit.”

I can’t help the hysterical laugh that bubbles up. _That’s the least of my worries._ “It’s been a shit day. Days, actually.”

“What happened?” she asks sympathetically as she draws closer, then glances down, puzzled, at my pile of stolen grass.

“Well,” I begin, then jerk upright in realization, staring at her mostly-flat stomach. “Prin—the baby!”

She freezes, then smiles awkwardly. “Yes. The baby. I’ll… let’s talk about that in a minute. What happened to _you_?”

_Talk about it in a minute?!_ “I—well… I told you about my squire, Cindra.”

She nods, then her eyes widen. “Oh no. What happened?”

_Don’t cry, come on._ “She was hit—hit by a soul,” I murmur.

“Oh no,” Prin repeats, shaking her head with a stricken expression. “I’m so sorry.”

I nod. _What do you say in the face of this kind of tragedy?_

“How did it happen?” she whispers, face creasing in worry.

“Sir Cawle found evidence that another kingdom was going to invade and wanted the queen to come, but she was sick and Cindra went instead,” I tell her, swallowing hard. “He was waiting by the soulpath and Cinda was hit.”

Princesca tilts her head thoughtfully. “He was waiting next to the path? Was it a dangerous spot?”

“Yeah, it’s hard to see the soulpath over the ridge,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut and trying not to imagine Cindra running over the hillock, filled with energy to deliver the letter, the shattering glass sound as the god’s soul—

“Why do you think he waited there?”

I shrug. “Er… I don’t know. What are you thinking?”

Prin’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “You’ve said you don’t trust this Sir Cawle fellow. Does he have a reason to want the queen injured? Or dead?”

I nod, still not understanding where she’s going with this.

“I know... I know it sounds far-fetched,” she begins hesitantly, “but I’ve been reading those books again… look, there’s not much else to do when you’re as puffed up as a child with a stolen cookie jar… but there was one story about some kind of political intrigue. The prince was assassinated by the evil queen when she sent word that he was needed by the cliffside and set a trap.”

It takes me a moment to put together what she’s getting at. “Are you saying… that Sir Cawle was _trying_ to have the soul hit someone—the queen? And Cindra coming was an accident?”

She shrugs. “You’re right, it’s crazy. Forget I said anything, I’m just so sorry this has happened. It’s probably just a terrible coincidence.”

Prin glances down, shaking her head, but I’m stuck on her words. _No… Sir Cawle meant for it to hit the queen?_ It’s a horrible possibility. I don’t want it to be possible, don’t want to believe his cruelty— _but I already know what he’s capable of._ I remember Ravne’s wide-eyed stare, I remember Samn’s furious shouts that I’m blinding myself, that I don’t want to believe it…

“Are you going to tell me about your newborn, now?” I ask finally, pulling out of my spiral of panic.

Prin’s gaze snaps up and locks on some spot in the distance. “I… I should, shouldn’t I?”

I falter. _Yes?_ “Uh… well, I guess, not if you don’t want to. But I’d like to know about my niece or nephew... if you’ll tell me about them?”

She nods and sighs heavily. Worry begins to creep up my back. _Blessed Starlaxi, no more tragedy today. Please. I couldn’t take it… just one happy moment. Please._

“Well… look,” Prin begins, swallowing. “I—I made a really, _really_ bad choice, like—the worst one, probably. And I’m… I’m scared.”

My eyebrows shoot up. _What?!_ “Is the baby okay? What’s wrong? Are you safe here?”

“Ro— _Fiyr_ ,” she amends, “I don’t know if he’s going to be safe with me.”

I connect the look in her eye to her careful words during our first visit. “Prin, is it because of the father?”

She winces. “Kind of. I—I’m so _stupid_ , why couldn’t I have just—”

“Please tell me, I want to help you,” I whisper, taking hold of her shoulders in an effort to steady her as she begins to tremble.

“Fiyr. His father is… is—” She stops and takes a deep breath. “One of the gods, okay?” She covers her face in her hands.”Don’t say it. I know. I fucked up.”

It leaves her in a rush and she falls silent, pressing her lips together and casting her gaze upward at the sky. I’m speechless. _I didn’t… didn’t even know that was how it works._

“Oh.”

“And I don’t know—don’t know if he’s—” Prin pauses to take a deep, heavy breath. “Don’t know if he’s going to be safe here. I have—I have _no one_ , Fiyr. I don’t know if he’s going to want to meet his son, or if this is like—some kind of crime or—I don’t know, Fiyr, I’m scared.”

All I can do is pull her into a hug. _I’m comforting Prin. This is… wrong._ “It’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.

I shake my head. “Me neither. But I’ll help you any way I can.”

…

I stay with Prin in the garden for longer than I should, holding her while we try to think of ways to remedy the situation with her and her half-god son.

Eventually, I know I have to take the redroot back to Yllowei. I should have taken it back long before. _I could be letting someone else die without it._ But I can’t bring myself to leave my sister until I see that the sun’s more than halfway across the sky. _There are no good options. Just whatever might keep the most hearts intact._

I return to the castle, my own heart beginning to feel like a stone in my chest. When I push back through the doors with the redroot bundled under my arm, Sir Cawle himself intercepts me as I cross the throne room.

“Sir Harte,” he rumbles. I glance at him through narrowed eyes. _Does he know that… I know?_

“Sir Cawle,” I answer, dipping my head.

“Where’s Graie?” he demands.

My heart sinks further. It must be under the soles of my boots at this point. “I don’t know.”

His piercing amber eyes narrow in response. “He mustn’t leave the castle; his cold’s worsened, but he left before Lady Fennen could order him to stay put.”

I dip my head again heavily. “I’ll tell him.” _If he ever comes back from the village of the Sun Stones. Selfish piece of_ —I head for the healer’s wing when a hand on my shoulder stops me.

Turning slowly, I resist the urge to slap Sir Cawle’s hand off of me. “Yes… sir?”

“No one’s to visit the queen while she recovers,” he says, voice dripping with ice. “Healer’s orders.”

“My squire’s in there!” I can’t help the words breaking out of my mouth. I’ve been hit with too much today for me to give a shit about politeness. His gaze is stoney and I stare right back, not backing down even though I’m ignoring decorum by treating the captain like an equal.

“Healer’s orders.”

“I won’t visit the queen, just my squire.” I can’t back down. I can’t leave Cindra alone with an occupied Yllowei and no one to talk to. “Please. Lady Fennen will agree.”

“Take it up with her, then,” he relents, but his gaze is sharper than a dagger.

“I will,” I shoot back, emboldened by distress, and turn on my heel. _The Starlaxi themselves aren’t going to stop me from seeing Cindra._

When I get back into the healer’s wing, Yllowei is immediately by my side. I’m ready to defend myself when she just shakes her head and rasps, “Cindra needs you.”

Heart seizing— _for the fourth time today?_ I wonder, half-hysterical—I hurry over to Cindra’s bedside. She’s cupping a bowl in her hands.

It’s full of small black rocks.

“Sir Harte,” she whispers as I arrive next to her and kneel by her cot.

“Cindra—what’s—” I reply, half-hoping she won’t answer and I won’t need to learn what new tragedy’s befallen our kingdom.

A tear slips out of her cheek and she shuts her eyes, then tenses her hands around the bowl, pressing her fingers to it until they turn white. Horror crawling up my back, I slip into the Trace.

Cindra’s life-force’s rises shakily, the feeling of flickering flames and smoke under my tongue, then in a bright flash of tinkling glass, it’s seared away. I break free from the Trace and stare at Cindra as she begins to cry.

“Cindra—” My voice breaks.

“It’s not working—my leg is—” she whimpers. “It’s the corruption.”

_No._ I grab her hands around the bowl, pressing tightly and trying to bring warmth back into her deathly cold fingers. She watches, wide-eyed and pitiful. _Please. No._ I summon whatever power’s within my reach despite the cold, sucking despair inside me, whatever warmth, comfort, _fire_ —

Heat flares out of my hands and into the bowl of cold cinders, into her cold hands—

“Ow!”

Cindra yanks her hands out of my grip and the bowl of cinders goes tumbling off the cot, smashing on the ground and the rocks within spill across the floor.

I stare at her hands as she pulls them close to her chest. They’re red. _What have I done?_

“I can’t do it,” she sobs, “I can’t, my life-force is gone . Please—I can’t—”

I freeze, hands trembling. I want to reach for her, but… I’ve hurt her. “I’m sorry—I just wanted to—”

She shakes her head, still shaking. “I _need_ it—I—If my leg’s broken—I need my life-force. It can’t be gone—then… then I’d really be useless.”

“Cindra, no,” I tell her desperately. “That’s not—it’s going to be okay. We just need to get the corruption off of your leg and your life-force will come back! It will!”

She keeps shaking her head.

“It will! It has to!” I repeat, trying to convince myself as well as Cindra. _It has to. Without her leg… without her life-force… She’s going to be confined to the castle forever. Her life would be over._

Cindra presses her lips together and tilts her head back, tears rolling down her face. “I just… I—Fiyr, don’t leave, okay?”

“Okay,” I breathe, covering her hand with mine, wishing I knew how to heal burns instead of wrecking everything I touch. Desperately wishing I knew how to help her.

…

Slowly, the days turn into weeks.

Yllowei shakes her head every day when I ask if she’s any closer to a remedy for the god-corruption on Cindra’s leg. The queen strengthens, and so does her command that Yllowei is forbidden from trying whatever she tried the first day.

Graie’s fever rises and falls like the tide. So does my anger with him. There’s too much pain in my heart to bring any more he’s caused into it. All that’s left in an empty feeling of loss. We need each other now more than ever, and we’re apart.

I’m visiting him today, finally. Yllowei nods to me as I walk back into the healer’s wing. It’s not a new sight. I can feel her eyes following me when I head for Graie’s cot instead.

“Fiyr.”

“Graie.”

I sit on the edge of his cot. He meets my gaze evenly. I hope that I’m not imagining the shame that flickers in his hazel gaze.

“Sir Cawle noticed your disappearances.” I break the silence, hoping we might be able to rally over our common enemy.

“You’ve disappeared to see your sister,” he answers. It’s not a real answer.

_He’s deflecting._

“Graie…” I trail off, shaking my head. Not even a hint of anger can light inside me now. I’m just cold.

He waits.

I wait.

_I have to see her again. No matter what he says._


	15. Chapter 14 - Fiyr

Chapter 14 - Fiyr

Thundria survives the winter. We have no choice.

The court reawakens as the world comes back alive. I’m still in a half-daze, trying to wrap my head around this new reality as weeks turn to months and Cindra’s leg stays wrong, her life-force stays gone, my heart stays cold as summer flourishes, then weakens into burnt leaves and cold winds and then… winter returns.

Slowly, we begin to adjust. What else can we do? I visit Cindra as often as I can, and the rest of time that slips between the cracks of patrols and supply runs is dedicated to going to Prin, sitting in the garden with her and shivering as more snow falls, offering whatever comfort I have left.

Samn and Brindellia are adjusting too. Lady Faise still stays in her room, staring out the window silently, but I know she’s found strength to hold out for Faern. A little light returns to Samn’s pale eyes when the baby coos _Sim_ for the first time. Then, a week later, _Mom_. They’ll survive.

The tension between Graie and I is showing no signs of easing yet. _Until he apologizes, I have nothing to say to him,_ I repeat stubbornly in my head each time our eyes meet, neither of us yielding an inch. At least he seems to have woken up a bit and has started actually paying attention to Brakken’s training.

He still stumbles up the stairs of the knight’s wing, trace reeking of Rivien and villager, late at night. He always knocks something over, always crashes into something and I always awaken to a muffled curse from the room next to me, before having to roll over and pull my covers up to my ears.

I adjust. I’ll survive. I don’t have another choice.

So when Sir Strommer waves me over as I’m exiting the healer’s wing after my morning visit with a twinkle in his eye, my spirits can’t help perking up cautiously. _A spot of happiness in the Blacklands that things have turned into?_

“Yes, sir?” I give the senior knight a respectful head dip, even if we’re technically equals now. _Impossible._

“I’d like you and Samn to go out on dawn patrol: near the Rivien border by the solstice pavilion,” he orders, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s going to smile and trying not to.

I freeze. “You’re… not coming? He’s your squire. I mean—while the queen recovers, that is.”

“I’m busy,” Sir Strommer replies, his mouth pressing harder together as the grin tries to force its way onto his face. “You two should bond. I know you didn’t really get along at first, but I have a feeling that’s changing.”

_Crafty old man._ “I—yeah, okay.”

The white-haired knight claps his hands, looking pleased. “Great. I think he’s in the dining hall.”

I give him one last look and he widens his eyes innocently before his straight face begins to crumble and he breaks into a grin. _I’m glad someone can smile right now._ But after a year of despair, the inkling of even just a possibility of one happy day is so precious that my chest hurts.

Sure enough, Samn’s sitting with his mother at one of the tables, neither speaking and sitting with their empty plates. I falter, then rally my courage and sit down across from them.

Lady Faise looks at me and gives me a nod. _Huh?_ Then she stands and silently collects her plate and her son’s, then heads for the kitchen.

“Sir Harte.” There’s a mocking twist to Samn’s lips but at least he’s showing _something_. The fact that he’ll still tease me over the title after all that’s happened adds fuel to the hope in my chest.

“Sir Strommer says we’re going on patrol to the Rivien border,” I announce. “I mean… good morning.”

He gives me a look. “Okay, sounds good. Good morning.”

I can’t help a grin. Samn doesn’t smile, not yet, but I won’t believe that I’m imagining it when his shoulders loosen like some of the stress is easing. Some weight is lifting. _Some joy. Just… one day._

“I’ll see you later, Mom,” Samn calls, standing from the table and turns to leave, then looks back at me. “You comin’?”

_He’s waiting for me?_ I jump to my feet. “Yeah! I’m—yeah, I just have to get my over-clothes.”

Samn nods. I hurry to the knight’s armoire. _Friendly Samn. Never thought I’d see the day._ As I’m pulling on the heavy coat and reaching into the pockets for the gloves, my fingers hit the heart. _Well… I don’t know if that counts as ‘friendly’. Confusing as shit, more like._ A weird energy is thrumming through me as I head back to the throne room and see Samn, already bundled up.

“Let’s go, then,” he says, then pauses, raising one wry eyebrow. “‘Scuse me, let’s go, _sir_.”

“Don’t do that,” I tell him, colouring pink. “We’re the same age. Actually, you’re older than I am; hardly a squire.”

He folds his arms and shrugs. “Sorry, sir. Let’s go, _Fiyr_.”

Samn looks like he’s enjoying my torment. I give a nervous laugh and head for the throne room before I can find out what’s after red . His boots echo on the stone behind me.

“I’m sorry about Cindra.” His tone’s more solemn now and my heart sinks.

_No more of this. I need_ one _happy day._ “Samn—Samn, there’s nothing either of us can do. Can… we just… your siblings, my squire, titles, Graie, Sir Cawle, just—just forget about it all. For one day; please.”

“It won’t go away just because we’re ignoring it.”

“It won’t go away if we’re obsessing over it, either,” I answer, shaking my head and trying to push back against the tide of sorrow that’s rising once more. “Nothing will help now. I’ve grieved enough. We’ve all grieved enough. Just… just one day.”

Samn swallows. When he speaks again, his voice is rougher. “You’re right. One day.”

Relief tugs at me. A bit of guilt, too. _No amount of grieving will be enough. But I can go back to it after today. I need one happy day. Just—just one, please, blessed Starlaxi._ Just knowing that I need to justify my own happiness to myself at this point compounds the sorrow. _No. One day._

“The Rivien border, you said?” Samn asks.

I nod. “Solstice pavilion.”

“Glad it’s such a nice day,” he snorts, but I shrug. By this winter’s standards, the sky might as well be bright blue and the air full of birdsong; the wind’s not howling, the snow’s still in the clouds… for now, and the weak sun makes it to our frost-touched skin.

“Well,” I laugh.

He shakes his head. “The Starlaxi must be pissed. What’s caused this shit season?”

“Maybe they need a blood sacrifice; copy the Wer, it worked for them,” I suggest. “As we know, their kingdom never fell and still rule the territories to this day.”

Samn lets out a puff of laughter that turns into a tiny cloud that the breeze whisks away. We head for the stables and he leaves to fetch Dune. Alone again. I keep pushing back against the thoughts that threaten to creep in. The ones I’m trying to forget.

Cindra’s leg. Graie’s muffled curses. The ferns across the windows. _No._ I have to get back to Samn.

Blitz and I hurry across the treetops to the squires’ stables where Samn’s mounting his horse. _Still faster than me. Damn it. One day,_ I promise myself.

“Still slow as ever,” he comments, echoing my thoughts.

I frown at him. “Come on, it’s freezing. My hands are slow today.”

His pale eyebrows raise in mock surprise. “Oh, they’re slow _today_ , silly me, I thought they were slow every day. That is… I thought _you_ were slow.”

“We’ll see who’s the slow one,” I shoot back, spurring Blitz toward the break in the snow-laden leaves. Her hooves kick up the powdery snow beneath the crust of ice, formed by too many days lacking the sun.

Samn flies past me, Dune somehow already in full gallop.

“You—” I shout but my words are cut off as the snow that his horse’s pace has kicked up showers over me. “Ack!”

He slows his horse in the same tiny stretch that he had to spur her into a gallop, twisting around to laugh at me. _I’m glad he’s laughing... even if it’s at my expense,_ I think, a helpless laugh bubbling up to join his.

Once I’ve shaken the snow out of my hair and Samn’s regained his composure, we head down to the forest floor and begin the ride across the Thundrian woods. As I had hoped, the sunlight that makes it through the trees offers some warmth.

“Come on, is your horse sick? Dying? Senile?” he teases as Dune widens the gap between us.

“ _You_ come on! It’s not a race!” I shout, trying to spur Blitz on past him nonetheless.

“It’s not?” he answers innocently and Dune just happens to continue speeding up.

_Son of—_ But I’m laughing and pushing my heels into Blitz’s side, urging her faster across the path. Dune’s still ahead, but I’m slowly closing the gap.

“Wait!” Samn suddenly hisses and yanks Dune’s reins until the pale-coated horse’s pace drops to a slow trot. “Trace.”

I rein Blitz in as well until I’m standing by him, neither of us moving. I shift into the fifth dimension and catch the shifting trace of a wild turkey. _Aha, gotcha._

Before I have a chance to do much more than leave the Trace, Samn’s unslinging the bow that’s strung across his back— _Of course he brought it,_ I think, shaking my head—and he draws the string back in one motion, releasing the slender arrow in an instant.

A squawk from through the tree.

“Blessed Starlaxi!” I exclaim, dazed from the lightning-quick kill. “How… how did you even…”

Samn shrugs, but there’s a glint of pride in his eyes. I shake my head, amazed. “Sold your soul to the Blacklands for those reflexes? .” He leads Dune into the trees after the squawk.

When he reappears with the turkey in one glove, he gives me a grin. “Wanna know how I’m so accurate?”

“Hard work and a can-do attitude?” I groan.

“Nope,” he answers, ignoring my snark. “Got it at the village of the Sun Rocks, the trade fair.”

I squint. “Your accuracy? What, some kind of magic potion or something?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he scoffs. _Well, I guess nothing will ever happen between us if he can’t stand me being an idiot…_ “No, I got something to practice with. Look, this is top secret!”

My eyes narrow further. “What do you mean, something to practice with? Another bow?” I guess.

He sighs. “Man, I really had to pick the dumb one… I—no, it’s—I bought a dart board.”

“A dart board,” I repeat, not able to string too many words together after ‘ _Man, I really had to pick the dumb one.’_

“A dart board,” he echoes.

“A dart board.” I can’t help a giggle at his frown when I imitate him again. _Those things the villagers keep in pubs and stuff? With the little sharp throwing sticks and the crazy point system?_

“ _Yes_ , a dart board. It’s in my nook. I practice sometimes when everyone else is out and I’m really good,” he defends. “And now my hands listen to my brain.”

I’m dumbfounded. _So… he throws sticks and now he’s probably the best archer in the court? How… does that work?_ “Really?”

“You’ve seen me shoot.” He shrugs modestly. “It worked. Or else I’m just incredibly talented. Which of course—”

“You are,” I finish with a sigh meant to sound exasperated. It comes out slightly too longing for me to be fully comfortable.

“I am,” he agrees brightly. “But that’s how I honed my accuracy. No magic needed. Well, that’s my big secret.”

_His secret…_ Something comes to mind. “Wait a minute. You have another secret, don’t you?”

Samn bolts upright in his saddle and his eyes widen in almost comedic panic before he eases abruptly. “Oh, yeah. I told you that, didn’t I?”

“You told me you _had_ a secret, not what it was,” I answer. “You said you’re only going to say at your knighting ceremony.”

He shrugs, composed again. “And I am.”

I shake my head with a sigh. “I’m not going to get it out of you, am I?”

“Well, I’ve been keeping it for a while now, so it can’t be that hard to keep it for another few weeks,” he replies with a wry smile.

“I wanna _knoooow_ ,” I whine.

“Well, that’s just too bad!” Samn exclaims, the same mocking smile fixed firmly in place.

“Bastard,” I mutter, giving up.

He accepts the title with a shrug. “I’m not telling anyone. Sorry.”

I sigh. We ride to the solstice pavilion, exchanging comments every so often but crossing the territory mostly in silence. I make another few passes at finding out his secret, and every time, he deflects with a shrug and a grin. Not giving up hope, though; I’ll get it out of him.

Finally, the pillars of the four kingdoms come into view and we ride up to the edge where the Rivien and Thundrian territory meets the pavilion.

“Let’s head out to the village of the Sun Rocks and then double back,” Samn suggests.

“Good plan,” I agree and we set off again. “Here’s another good plan; telling me your secret.”

He laughs. “Hmm. No.”

“Damn.”

As we continue across the cliffside toward the village, I look out onto the sea. The ice is covering the surface of the water and I’m reminded with a shudder of Graie’s plunge into it. And what happened afterward. _One day. Don’t think about that._

“Hey, I have a question about your dart board.” I give him an innocent smile.

“Yeah?”

“What’s your secret?”

“Nope.”

“Damn.”

We arrive in the village of the Sun Rocks but don’t take more than a couple steps onto the road into town before Samn wheels Dune around and leads us back up the cliffside, doubling our trace markings on the border.

“Why do we even bother marking the Rivien border when there’s a whole damn sea separating us?” Samn wonders aloud.

“Probably because you should tell me your secret.”

“No, I somehow don’t think that’s why,” he laughs. “Good try. Better luck next time.”

I sigh. “Because the kingdoms are dumb sometimes.”

Samn jerks upright. “Excuse me?”

I shrug. “Border marking’s a tradition, so we spend knights... and squires, on patrolling the border. Even if it’s pointless. We stick to tradition anyway.”

“Oh,” Samn let out a breath and I cock my head.

“What’d you think I meant?”

“Nothing.”

I give him a questioning look. He just shrugs. _His secret?_ In spite of the joking nature of my questions, I can’t deny genuine curiosity at his evasiveness. _What’s he hiding? Is it bad? What… could it be?_ I can’t even conceptualize what he could’ve been hiding all this time. _How could I not already know?_

“Just give it up, I’m not telling,” he answers my silent question.

“Gah. How did you do that?”

“My secret is that I can read minds,” he deadpans.

“Not funny.” Every thought I’ve ever had that I certainly wouldn’t want him to hear rises to the surface of my mind in a dizzying rush. I redden again.

“Why, are you hiding something?” he asks, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“No!” I shout.  
Samn bursts into laughter. “Yeah, you sure sound innocent.”

I press my lips together and shake my head, willing the blood out of my cheeks. “I’m not—not hiding anything.”

_Shut up, Fiyr!_ I order myself silently as his head tilts and he nudges Dune closer, eyes sparkling and making my stomach swoop.

“Nothing?” teases Samn. “Nothing at all? Are you sure there’s not _anything_ you’re hiding from your dear old friend?”  
“So this is how it feels,” I groan. _Friends?_

We take turns trying to get the other to come clean on the ride back to the solstice pavilion. Neither of us give in. _Well, he’s probably been keeping his secret longer. I mean… wait, how long have I been… uh… thinking_ things _about Samn?_ I can’t remember. It’s not like he’s never been… how he is. Well, maybe not _how_ he is. _What he looks like. I’m shallow._

As subtly as I can manage, I study Samn’s profile, outlined against the gray sky and icy sea. He’s changed since we were twelve, certainly. His jaw is sharper and squarer, features more exaggerated compared to the soft roundness of children. Golden hair with the barest tinge of red. Olive, pale-green eyes. Straight nose. Maybe three freckles dotted over warm brown skin… and very nice lips.

I look away quickly.

_Don’t give his lips adjectives and don’t give yourself ideas,_ my brain orders me but then it promptly ignores itself. _Very nice lips. Soft-looking. Pink. Warm? Kissable._

“Fiyr?”

“ _Ah!_ ” I yelp, almost falling off Blitz. The straps are the only thing that hold me in place. “Y—yeah?”

Samn raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“No!” I shout, perhaps too loudly.

“That was loud,” he comments.

_Definitely too loud._ I groan and slap my forehead. “I’m not—you’re not—I mean—”

His handsome lips curve into a grin. _Don’t think about his lips,_ I berate myself. _Handsome’s another adjective. Wait—can lips even be handsome? Argh._

“Sorry, am I distracting you?” Samn asks, his voice dropping lower and he bats his eyelashes innocently. “Please, get back to whatever you were thinking, don’t let me be a bother.”

“No—you—I—it’s—” I stammer. “ _Argh._ Shut up.”

Samn’s still got that evil grin. I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at him. Or his _stupid_ lips. _That’s what they are. They’re stupid. Not handsome or beautiful or nice or—or_ anything _, just stupid._ It’s quite possible that I’m losing my mind.

“We’re here,” Samn exclaims cheerfully.

“Great.” I breathe out, a little bit of sanity returning to me. “Let’s go.”

“Aw, you don’t wanna stay and chat?” he teases, but when I glance back, his head is cocked like he’s actually waiting for an answer.

_Is that a real offer? I can’t really tell anymore._ “I’d _love_ to stay and chat,” I answer with a challenging look. “It’s such a nice day. Be a shame to waste it.”

I don’t really think I’m talking about the weather anymore. I think he’s thinking the same thing.

“I agree.” His gaze is appraising, then something seems to change in him and he shrugs. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

I’m about to ask what he means when he dismounts Dune in a second, tying her reins around a sapling nearby. _Bastard._ With as much dignity as I can manage, I unclip the straps and swing myself off of Blitz. It takes a minute. Samn’s watching. _Bastard,_ I repeat in my head. It’s almost affectionate. _Come on, Fiyr, keep it together._

Once Blitz is tied to the same sapling, I dash over to the pavilion and drop onto the snow- covered stone, sitting with my legs stretched in front of me. “Well? What are _you_ waiting for?” I imitate.

Samn folds his arms. “An invitation from my _favourite_ knight to come sit down.”

I laugh. “I, Sir Fiyr Harte of Thundria, cordially invite you, Samn, squire to Queen Bluelianna of Thundria, to come sit next to me.”

I sweep the snow away with one glove and he unfolds his arms and drops to sit next to me. “I accept your invitation, good sir.”

Silence hangs between us, but I don’t mind. Even as my heart’s beating faster, I’m content to just sit here and the clouds crawl across the sky, letting my fingers slowly lose feeling.

“Cold as the Blacklands,” Samn mutters, rubbing his gloves together.

“I can help,” I remind both of us.

“If you don’t blow me up this time,” he snorts.

I frown at him. “C’mon, I did fine on the north tower balcony, remember?”

His head tilts and his eyes return to mine. “I remember.”

My breath catches in my throat for a second. His gaze doesn’t shift from mine, then he cracks a smile.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

Again.

I breathe out slowly and pull off my gloves, then wait. _Hang on, an idea._ “I’ll warm us both up. First you have to—”

“Fiyr, don’t do this,” he groans.

“C’mon, warm fingers, just takes a little confession,” I press. “I’m cold, too. Just spill the beans.”

Samn buries his head in his hands and then peeks out between his fingers as I start to laugh—well, cackle, maybe, is a better word for it. “Okay, okay.”

“Yes!” I crow.

“I’ll tell you,” he grumbles, dropping his hands back into his lap before looking up at me. “Start the fire.”

I raise an eyebrow at him and start a little flame in the air between us. It warms my face as it flickers over the two of us.

“Can you… move it over here a bit?” he asks hesitantly.

With my curiosity growing by the second, I do as he says, shifting it through the air so the flame is flickering out in front of us, the air between us empty again. Just my curiosity and the puff of air as he sighs.

“Okay.”

Samn heaves another breath. _Should I be worried?_ I wonder again.

“Fiyr.”

“Yeah?”

His hands twist in his lap, and then suddenly one’s on my shoulder. My heart thunders in my chest, adrenaline readying my fight or flight response as Samn keeps staring, searchingly, like he’s waiting for something. His hand burns on my shoulder through the layers of my coat and clothes and his glove.

“What—” My throat’s dry. “What is it?”

“I want… to kiss you,” he says, still staring into my eyes like he can see into my soul.

_Oh._

“Oh.”

“Do you want to?”

“Kiss me?” I echo dumbly.

Samn lets out a puff of laughter and then leans closer. My heart stutters to a stop. Time seems to halt for just a few seconds.

_That’s why he didn’t want the fire between us?_ A laugh’s about to leave my mouth when Samn’s there and my whole brain stops working.

_Soft._

Then my hands, completely disconnected from my fried brain, rise to hold his face. Samn leans even closer and warmth flushes through my skin like sunshine, like a flower opening, like summer— _Blessed fucking Starlaxi, I’m kissing Samn._

I don’t know how many moments of gold pass between us before his hand drops out of my hair— _Samn’s hand was in my hair?_ —and our lips break apart.

“Okay,” I whisper then try to die by internal combustion as blood rushes to my face— _again_. The flame has turned into a fireball. I extinguish it in a hurry before Samn can notice the effect he had.

“Okay,” he echoes, smiling. “You know, maybe I need more practice.”

I can hardly stop myself from offering him help with it. “Mm.”

“I think you owe me your secret now,” he reminds me, still grinning.

_He can make sentences? Amazing. Very talented,_ my brain comments helpfully. “I—was thinking—about that. For about—for a long time.” _Great job, Fiyr, that made sense._

“That’s the secret or just a general comment?” Samn asks. I’m happy to see he’s at least half-breathless. “Me too.”

“That’s secret,” I answer, still trying to figure out why the world is so darn sparkly. “That’s the it. Um. Yes, it’s.”

Samn tilts his head. “Why?”

My mouth opens and closes a couple times as I try to rally my remaining faculties into an answer. “I—I don’t know. I don’t know. Why did you want to kiss me?”

He giggles. Sounds delirious. Or maybe I’m delirious. The sky does seem awfully bright blue.

“You’re pretty. I dunno.” He shrugs.

I turn bright red. More bright red. “I—I am?”

Samn shrugs again. “I think so. Last time I checked.”

A giggle escapes me, the same delirious laughter as his. He gives me a look like I’m losing my mind. Maybe I am. “You’re not terrible to look at either.”

“Oh gee, dunno how I held out so long,” he snorts. “I’m not terrible to look at? Careful, that’s pretty—that’s pretty… a lot.”

“Eloquent.”

“Shut up.”

I’m grinning like an idiot. Samn shakes his head, but he’s got the same dumb smile. “You think we should go back? Like… today?”

I shake my head. He huffs a laugh and glances out at the border in front of us, then he startles and twists back around to look at me, the half-conscious joy in his eyes replaced by lightning-understanding.

“Fiyr!” he gasps.

I stare.

“Fiyr, the sea’s frozen!” he exclaims.

I continue to stare.

“Don’t you understand what this means?” Samn asks urgently.

“Er…” I squint at him, “no?”

“We have access to Rivier!” he explains, fire lighting in his eyes. “We can attack!”

And just like that, life comes crashing back in.

…

Samn’s gotten himself into a frenzy over the possibility of a raid on Rivier and I can’t help feeling like I’m being thrown in too many directions at once. _But Graie—and the queen—and Samn just—just kissed me! And he’s riding off to the castle like it was nothing! Was it nothing?_

Self-doubt washes over me and I find myself suddenly picking apart the interaction. _He said… he needed more practice. That was a joke. Right? It was, wasn’t it? How much has he practiced?! That was my first kiss—unless you count the kids Prin and I used to play with when we were six, but I don’t think it’s... Oh, blessed Starlaxi, he hasn’t been kissing Duss?_

I give Samn a doubtful look, but he’s busy in his journey toward the castle to incite war between the kingdoms. _Is this a good idea?_

“Samn… are you sure about this…?” I voice my concerns into the frosty air.

He turns back and then slows Dune enough for me ride alongside him. “Fiyr, there’s… Years ago, before King Braukkiniaum came along, the kingdoms… had very different relationships. They— _we_ competed for territory and dominance over towns, not to try to stop a tyrant from murdering children. It’s not the way of the kingdoms to stay in peace for long.”

_Doesn’t feel like we’ve had peace._

“Do we need to fight Rivier?” I press.

“We’re going insane cooped up inside the castle and only leaving every couple days for patrols and supply runs,” Samn answers, shaking his head. “I know you’ve seen… too much tragedy. But that’s not the way it’s supposed to be. We don’t kill. We fight and prove our worth in battle, and take losses honourably, prepared to fight again another day.”

_That’s not how it’s been._ But as he said, ‘how it’s been’ isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.

I nod. It still sits wrong with me. _But… Rivier’s done nothing. And Graie… what is he going to do? What if Silaverre’s in the battle?_

Nerves still twisting in my stomach, I follow Samn’s lead as he spurs Dune into a gallop.

…

“Your Majesty, we’ve found something you should know about,” Samn announces urgently, crossing the throne room to her when we’ve stabled our horses and returned to the castle.

Queen Bluelianna glances away from Yllowei who she had been conversing with in low, quick words and narrows her eyes. “Yes? Speak.”

“The sea is covered in ice. We could attack Rivier,” he tells her, his even tone belied by the way his hands twist around each other excitedly.

An eyebrow arches. “Could we.”

“A raiding party could cross the ice to one of the islands!” Samn exclaims, then regains control and lowers his head. “That is… if you think it wise, Your Majesty.”

She nods. “I’ll speak to the court. Thank you for bringing this to my attention; dismissed.”

Samn bows and I copy him, then the queen turns back to Yllowei. Samn tugs me away, his expression barely concealing his excitement. “C’mon! We should get ready for battle!”

“We might not get picked for the raiding patrol. And she might decide against it,” I argue, half-pleading with the Starlaxi themselves to reverse the direction this seems to be going in.

He sighs at me. “ _Maybe_ , but I think we’ll have a raid ready by sundown.”

_I hope not._

“Let all of the court that have demonstrated their life-force gather for a court meeting!” The queen’s call rings out through the throne room and my anxieties halt their spiralling to pay attention to what she has to say.

Everyone gathers quickly, the crowd amassing in only a few minutes despite the weather making everyone sluggish. Maybe they can feel the tension crackling in the air.

“It has been brought to my attention that ice has formed over the Rivien sea,” she declares. “We have access on horseback to the Rivien islands. The winter may have dulled our tempers but Thundria will not be dampened so easily!”

An answering cheer rises from the court. _This doesn’t sound like peace talk…_ My stomach sinks as I catch Graie’s eye. His face is stricken.

“I think it may be time for a raid,” the queen shouts. The court rises in reply. “By volunteer, we will put together a raiding patrol! And they will ride at dawn!”

The court roars in agreement.

My heart drops into my boots.

_I know what I have to do._

**Thank you for reading chapter 14! Please follow and favourite this story and leave me a review with what you think!**

**~Akila**


	16. Chapter 15 - Graie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is gonna start some fun stuff... hehheheh

Chapter 15 - Graie

The roar of the court almost drowns out the chorus of _Crap-crap-crap-crap-crap-crap_ going through my head. _A raid of Rivier. By volunteer. Crap-crap-crap-crap-crap-crap._

Sir Cawle ascends the dais to stand next to the queen and shouts, “Who will join me?”

“I will!” It’s Darriek Styrp, of course. The first to follow Tigre into any hare-brained scheme.

“I will!” Liang Teyl; no surprise there, either. “Let’s show them Thundria’s strength!”

_Where’s the last one of Sir Cawle’s devotees?_

“I want to come!” Duss calls.

_There it is._

“No squires,” the queen intervenes. “You’ll be in the heart of Rivien territory. I won’t put squires in danger. You’ll stay at the castle and help them prepare.” Duss falls silent with a scowl.

Then a voice that surprises me is raised. “I’ll join the raid.”

Willowamina steps forward. My heart drops. _My own mother._ Sir Cawle raises an eyebrow and I hear a couple murmurs. _A woman joining the raid?_

The queen nods and Sir Cawle does too after a moment.

“One more,” Queen Bluelianna calls out. Her eyes find mine in the crowd and I narrowly avoid flinching. _Does she expect me to volunteer?_ But there’s a glimmer of something unidentifiable in those ice-blue depths. Something like… understanding. Her eyes move away and I’m left wondering if I imagined it.

The silence stretches, tensing, ready to snap—

“I’ll go.”

Heads turn.

My heart sinks lower.

Fiyr repeats, a glint of steel in his green eyes, “I’ll go on the raid.”

Samn whoops and claps him on the back and the whole court erupts into a cheer for their raiding party. Something passes between Samn and Fiyr in a heartbeat, then it’s gone again, and I’m left wondering what I missed as my stomach drops through my foot, through the floor, and down to the forest below. As the court washes him forward toward the dais to stand with Sir Teyl, Sir Styrp, Sir Cawle, and Lady Peilte, his eyes meet mine for an instant.

It’s the first time that I haven’t been able to know what he’s thinking with a look at his face. He looks… nervous. Maybe regretful. Blood’s rushing in my ears, adrenaline surging as I grapple with the implications of what he’s just done. _Does he_ want _to fight Sila? No… This can’t be real. He wouldn’t. Wouldn’t he?_

The angry flash of green eyes, his attempts at ordering me around, the day in the village when he confronted us— _Wouldn’t he?_

I take a deep breath. _It’s out of my hands. Sila can handle herself. She’ll be safe; she has to be._ But with everything that’s transpired between our kingdoms in the past months, Sir Calew’s shout, their captain’s frenzied assault, Sila’s choked off voice as she explained how the gods were poisoning the fish…

_They can’t!_

_I can’t stop them._

The stone floor of the throne room feels like it’s lurching under my feet as Sir Cawle speaks. It’s like a dream, his voice fading out as I watch the five of them stand before the court, swords on their hips, life-force rings on their fingers, ready to hurt Sila or her friends or her father or—

I’m gonna be sick.

I break away from the court, knowing I’m going to draw stares and not finding it in myself to care. My feet carry me up the stairs of the knight’s wing, up into the hallway where my room is, where I don’t have to look Fiyr in the eye. Did he get good at hiding what he was feeling in the year it’s been since I started seeing Sila? Or am I just blinded— _blindsided_ by what’s going on?

Whatever it is, slamming my room’s door and breathing hard on my bed isn’t making the nausea go away.

_He wants to hurt her. That’s the only explanation. Maybe he’s jealous. Maybe knowing that I’ve found someone else and all my attention isn’t on him is driving him crazy. Maybe seeing me with my new number one all the time and not talking to him as much and when I do, being short and cold, is hurting him. Maybe he wants to hurt me back._

Or maybe it’s just me.

_Fuck._

I fall backwards onto my bed, squeezing my eyes shut and willing away the feeling of the room spinning. _There’s nothing I can do. My mom, my best friend—they’re going to hurt the girl I love and there’s nothing I can do._

Those are the thoughts that are making the bile rise in my throat. Imagining Fiyr’s unpredictable life-force, or Willowamina’s deft blade-strokes aimed at her—my stomach twists. _Should I have volunteered for the patrol? To try to save her? But what if someone noticed that we weren’t attacking each other? What if they figured us out?_

What if they figured us out?

Just picturing my mother’s face, picturing the queen—everyone looking at me like Fiyr looked at me… I would rather head straight to the Blacklands and not come back. _I know it’s wrong… but… it can’t be_ that _wrong, not if it feels like…_

Sila’s smile flashes through my head.

_If it feels like everything right with the world._

It’s rending my relationship with Fiyr, I know that much. But how much of that is my fault and how much of it is him being unable to accept that I have someone else? _How much of it is me and Sila and how much of it is me being unable to accept that he has someone else?_

Samn.

I roll over with a groan. It’s turning out like it’s going to be a long day.

…

They’re back far too early.

I fly down the stairs alongside half the court, all of us desperate to hear what’s happened on Rivien’s territory. Even though it’s felt like years, I know that they’re back far too early for a full raid to have taken place. Illicit hope surges in my chest. _Maybe they didn’t attack at all. Crisis of conscience?_

Looking at Sir Cawle’s hard jaw… _Not likely._

“The ice wasn’t strong enough,” he tells us without fanfare. “It broke when we tested it. There will be no raid on Rivien until it freezes better.”

A gusty breath leaves me. _Prayers answered._ Sila’s safe. I don’t need to kill Fiyr. _Well. Yes, I do. He wanted to hurt Sila. He tried. The ice stopped him. Because the Starlaxi wouldn’t let anything happen to her._

I have to believe it’s true.

Sir Styrp and Sir Teyl are shifting irritably and even my peaceful mother looks irate that there was no bloodshed. _Does Fiyr…_ No, he looks almost… almost as relieved as I am. _What?_

No matter; he’s getting his due all the same. I don’t care how he feels about not having to fight; the fact that he volunteered is reason enough to knock his lights out.

“It’ll freeze again,” Sir Styrp promises the court as they murmur, frustration rising. “Then Rivier will get what’s coming.”

_Not before_ you _all do._ Maybe I can forgive my mother. She didn’t know. _She_ can’t _know._ But there was someone who _did_ know. Someone who knew and still went, still _volunteered_. _I’m going to kill him._

“Graie.” It’s him. His voice is cold.

“Fiyr,” I half-growl back. This has been a long time coming. Too many cold glances exchanged, too many words bitten off halfway out for there not to be some kind of confrontation. Months and months of ignoring each other, of leaving the room when the other enters, of delaying meals to avoid having to see each other… It ends now.

He seems to understand this much, at least, because we leave the crowded court to pester the failed-raid patrol for details about the weak ice. Fiyr and I walk over to a more secluded alcove off to the left of the throne.

“Relieved?” he snaps.

“Excuse me?” I demand. My hands ball into fists.

“Relieved that we didn’t go after _your_ court?”

_Bastard._ “You volunteered. You _wanted_ to hurt her.”

Fiyr’s face twists. “I wanted to _help you!_ Graie, I’m still—you’re—ungrateful!”

_What in the Blacklands is he talking about?!_ “You wanted to hurt her,” I repeat. “You volunteered to hurt me. You hate that I have someone else. You’re jealous.”

“ _I’m_ jealous? You’re the one nearly smashing windows every time I talk to Samn!” he shouts back, voice rising to echo off the sides of the throne room. “Fucking rich, speaking of _hating that you’ve found someone else!_ ”

_I’m not jealous of Samn!_ Rage boils over in my gut and before I know it, pain is throbbing through my right hand’s knuckles. I blink, clearing my vision of the haze that’s descended and see that Fiyr’s turned away, clutching his blotched cheek.

“Fiyr—” I gasp, then cry out as something hard slams into my stomach. Air rushes out of me and I gasp again, feeling like my ribs have been compressed— _can’t breathe—_ and then I realize. _He punched me._

That’s why I don’t feel remorse as my fist flashes out again, hooking around to strike his shoulder and knock him back. His gaze is burning green and I can’t help a burst of adrenaline. There’s no time to think of anything but _No more controlling tones and biting off words—just fight him!_

And so as he grabs me by the shoulders, his face twisting into rage so dark it takes my breath away, I push him back, pulling my fist back to punch again, and I yelp as he shoves back. I flail off balance and grab the first thing that I can reach—

Which turns out to be his waist as we both go crashing down to the stone floor.

_Ow._

Fiyr makes some noise that sounds like a snarl— _Like a Wer,_ I think faintly—and pushes himself up to grab my tunic and pull his fist back—

Suddenly, his hand slips free of my shirt and he falls away from me. Or more accurately… is pulled off of me. I glance up, the haze of battle clearing as my breath is sucked in and out frantically.

_Oh, shit._

The queen’s frosty gaze looks down at me. She’s holding the collar of Fiyr’s shirt like a disobedient kitten that was playing too roughly with its littermates.

“Sir Harte. Sir Sterrip.”

My heart begins to slow and I fall back, the adrenaline leaving me and being replaced with dizziness. My lip is bleeding, I think.

“Do either of you care to explain what’s going on here?” she growls.

When the ceiling finally stops spinning, I push myself up to face her and realize the entire court has gathered to watch Fiyr and I snap at each other’s throats. _Great._

“Your Majesty,” Fiyr whispers from her grasp. When she releases him, he twists around to bow his head to her, kneeling in front of her skirts as she glowers down at the two of us.

“An explanation, Sir Harte,” she repeats.

I wait, holding my breath, as she continues to stare down at him. He’s silent. I release the breath, then suck in another one as her ice-cold gaze turns to me.

“Sir Sterrip?”

I shake my head.

“Stand up, both of you,” she spits. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard her like this. “I will not stand for infighting in my court. Sir Harte, ask the captain if there’s a patrol that can get out some of your _zeal for action_. Sir Sterrip, come to my chambers.”

Heart sinking, I glance at Fiyr. He’s not meeting my eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Fiyr repeats the words and stands, casting a defiant look over the amassed court and heading straight for Sir Cawle. _Brave. Or maybe he just doesn’t have any dignity left._

Finally, the last heat of the battle dies down and is replaced with a heavy feeling of shame. _What the fuck was I thinking? What was Fiyr thinking? Blessed Starlaxi, what are we? Mercs?_

“Sir Sterrip,” the queen repeats, the warning in her tone letting me know that this is the last time she’ll call to me. That this time I’m expected to follow her.

I stand, avoiding the dozens of stares from the court. _Blessed Starlaxi, please tell me that Brakken didn’t have to see that. What was I_ thinking _?_ I wince and follow the queen as she sweeps across the stone toward the door behind the throne.

She leads me silently into the room and takes a seat at her desk. The papers are reordered. I pull out the chair in front of it and sit down, keeping my eyes locked on my hands in my lap.

“Sir Sterrip.”

_All she ever says._

“Yes, Your Majesty?” I whisper.

“Look at me,” she orders. I glance up. Her eyes are chips of blue ice. “You and Sir Harte have been having problems.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

_All I ever say._

I swallow as she continues to study my face.

“You are under no obligation to be friends with everyone at court.” She pauses meaningfully. I wait for the _but_. I’m not disappointed. “But I will not tolerate fighting among my court. I will _not_ tolerate the two of you at each others’ throats when tensions are rising because of the weather. Shame on you both. Your squires are grappling with tragedy and you two decide that a better use of your time is trying to break each others’ necks.”

I hang my head. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be better.”

My hands twist in my lap. _I’ll get around to that just as soon as Fiyr stops trying to tear me away from the only one I’ve ever loved._ I picture Sila’s blue eyes crinkling as she does that thing where she tries to stop smiling but her eyes give her away. _His blue eyes as he gives me that shy smile—No._ I was a child. Things are different now.

“What is happening, Graie?” she asks suddenly. Too perceptive.

My head snaps up. “Nothing. Nothing, Your Majesty. I’m sorry; I’ll be better.”

Her eyes study my face like they can see right through me. Like she knows. _Impossible._

“If that’s all?” I ask tentatively, pushing my chair back and making to leave.

“Gr—Sir Sterrip, if you need to speak with me at any time, my door is open,” she reminds me, those sharp eyes still flicking over my face. “Dismissed.”

I bow and hurry out.

_Too perceptive. What does she know? Her door is open. Too perceptive. Like she knows._

_Impossible._

…

Winter deepens as the weeks pass. It can’t compare to last year’s, but all the same, the court seems to hold its breath as we freeze.

The next morning, I’m dressed and leaving my room when, on instinct, I peek into Fiyr’s room. Empty. It’s early; he’s probably already at Cindra’s bedside. _Like a good mentor._

Guilt fills me.

I shove it away.

Out of habit, I head for the squires’ wing to fetch Brakken. Empty. I turn and go instead to the healer’s wing with a heavy heart. When I enter, Brakken looks up. Fiyr does not. The swelling in his cheek has dulled to a faint reddish shadow, but I feel the same rising tide of shame all the same.

“Let’s go,” I rasp to Brakken, eyes still on Fiyr. _I’m so stupid._ But I’m not going to be the one to break our silence.

Brakken nods and squeezes Cindra’s pale hand one more time, then stands and follows me out into the throne room. We’re immediately waved down by Sir Strommer, standing by the queen and the captain of the guard on the dais.

“Your Majesty, Sir Cawle, Sir Strommer,” I greet them.

“Sir Sterrip.” The latter is the one to address me, giving me a nod but his eyes only linger on my face for a heartbeat before they slide over to Brakken and gain a concerned cast. Not hard to do when my squire’s looking worse by the day. “You and Brakken will be coming with me on a hunting trip.”

I nod and Brakken does the same.

“Go fetch what you’ll need for the day and I’ll meet you with the horses on the pavilion,” he directs.

Brakken turns to go to the squire’s wing and I want to stop him and ask if he’s sure he’s up to it, but with the queen and Sir Cawle right there, I’m uncomfortable. _I’ll ask him when we go. I can cut the trip short if he’s in too bad condition,_ I decide. _And I won’t end up on patrol with Fiyr._

It’s happened enough for me to know that any way I’m avoiding it is a blessing from the Starlaxi. Our rift hasn’t exactly gone unnoticed, but I want to minimize our contact all the same so the court doesn’t have to see us. Queen Bluelianna was right; we can’t fight. And if we can’t get along, then we shouldn’t talk.

Soon enough, I’m out on the pavilion with Sir Strommer, bundled in my over-clothes with my bow on my back and I’m just strapping up Quicksilver when I hear the older knight clear his throat. I falter. _He’s going to ask about Fiyr, I know he is._

But the knight holds his peace and eventually the pressure on my lungs eases and I mount Quicksilver like nothing happened. A few moments later, Brakken emerges from the door, pulling his left glove on.

“Okay, let’s go!” Sir Strommer spurs his horse into a trot across the forest top toward the hole. Brakken glances at me, waiting for me to lead him. I give a microscopic sigh and follow Sir Strommer.

…

“How’s Cindra?” I finally ask as Sir Strommer takes the lead and leaves us behind to talk. “Doing… any better?”

Brakken’s face is in the same hard set that I’ve seen it in for months. “I don’t think so. Lady Fennen says the corruption is stopping the leg from healing. She still can’t put pressure on it.”

My voice drops to a rasp and I clear my throat. It doesn’t help much. “And her life-force?”

“Still gone.” His voice quivers. “Lady Fennen’s not… not sure.”

“Not sure?”

“Not sure if it’s going to come back.” He swallows.

I want to comfort him, but I’m at a loss for what could help him. If he _can_ be helped. _Cindra’s leg isn’t healing. Her life-force has been gone for… so long… I don’t think it’s going to come back._

“I’m… I’m sorry. I want to help you.” It’s all I can offer.

“I know,” he mumbles. “Everyone _wants_ to help, but nobody can.”

I press my lips together and shake my head, aching to offer him that help that’s just out of reach for the whole court. The gods’ powers… they’re just too far removed from our life-force. Gods don’t deal in elements, living things, or qualities. They have no alchemists, no summoners, and no elementalists. Only curses, enchantments, mysterious powers weaving through the world in inexplicable ways, infecting what they touch.

Hate rises in me. I’m almost surprised at it, but then I’m not. They’ve corrupted our lands, encroached on our territory, and killed us without _noticing_. And now they’ve destroyed a little kid’s life. I suppose it would be more surprising if I _didn’t_ hate them.

“Where do you go?” Brakken asks suddenly, breaking me out of my mind’s tangent.

“Excuse me? We’re following Sir Strommer…” I trail off. Brakken’s gaze is sharp. It’s lost some of its softness. When did that happen? _Probably around the time his sister was almost killed. Or in the year that passed with her leg never healing. Maybe I would’ve noticed it if…_

“No. I mean… you disappear a _lot_. Where do you go?”

I open my mouth, frantically trying to construct something that doesn’t involve confessing to a crime when we’re interrupted. Sir Strommer is circling back to talk to us.

“Sir Strommer?” I greet him again, voice rising in puzzlement.

“Do you… hear that?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“Hear what?” Brakken asks.

I concentrate for a beat, feeling the world warp around me as I enter the fifth dimension, and listen. Immediately, I catch the unnatural sound. It’s grating, harsh, like the wailing of a baby, but… wrong, somehow.

Flipping back into the real world but not forgetting the sound, I can catch it now. It sounds like any baby I’ve heard screaming in the nursery, a far cry from the jagged edges of whatever I heard in the Trace.

“A baby,” I announce unnecessarily. The squalling is only getting louder as we continue to trot through the forest. Sir Strommer’s squinting through the trees when he suddenly stops. We rein in our mounts as well.

“Is that…” The knight trails off as we all peer through the bush at the figure that lies beyond.

My stomach sinks. The baby’s screaming.

“One way to find out.”  
I spur on Quicksilver through the bushes and we come into the clearing.

Fiyr sits at the bottom of a tree, cradling something in his arms. My stare lands on the bundle. White-haired and red-cheeked and absolutely _howling_.


	17. Chapter 16 - Graie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clowdtimeclowdtimeclowdtimeclowdtimeclowdtimeclowdtimeclowdtimeclowdtimeclowdtimeclowdtimeclowdtimeclowdtimeclowdtimeclowdtime

Chapter 16 - Graie

“Sir Harte.” Whit Strommer is the one to break our patrol’s silence, his half-question almost drowned out by the baby’s screams.

Fiyr’s eyes dart nervously to each of our faces, then back down to the baby. He takes a deep breath, then pushes himself to his feet. “I—this baby is…”

Though he falters, none of us press him. Fiyr takes another breath and finishes, “This baby is my sister’s. She can’t keep him because he’s—because the gods will send him away.”

We all continue staring at him until Sir Strommer finally asks, “And what are you going to do with him?”

Fiyr licks his lips anxiously and looks down at the baby, who has begun to settle down a little, at least, and is now just letting out the occasional wail. “Um… take him back to the castle? He can join the court.”

Nonplussed, Sir Strommer blinks. “He—you intend to bring a god-toy baby to court and raise him as a knight?”

“Yes?”

“We… we need the queen,” the older knight eventually decides, still shaking his head, completely perplexed. “Fetch Blitz. We’re going back to the castle. Queen Bluelianna will know what to do.”  
_Fiyr’s… sister’s… son. His.. nephew?_ My brain’s taking a while to process it. _His family._

It’s one part of Fiyr’s life that I’ve never pried into. With Ravne, and even Duss and Samn, I knew other parts of them that they didn’t always show me because while I grew up with them, I also grew up with their mothers, fathers, siblings, aunts and saw them interact with their families. Fiyr? I have nothing. I know he visits his sister… but around the same time he started doing that, I was… otherwise occupied. As far as I know, he sprang out of a fiery egg on the third full moon after my squire ceremony and Queen Bluelianna just happened upon him by chance.

If we were still friends, maybe I’d see another side of him with this baby. _Unless the queen just kicks it out._ I can’t help hoping that won’t happen, no matter how bad things are between Fiyr and I. The baby didn’t do anything, and even if Fiyr’s sister _is_ a god-toy, she definitely doesn’t deserve to have her child taken away.

Fiyr returns, leading Blitz with one hand and cradling the baby in the other. I can’t help checking the Trace carefully, hoping that the baby’s cries aren’t attracting beasts of any description. A strange burn begins on my tongue, but I can’t identify it. _God-corruption? The baby’s probably just still stinking of the gods after being around them so long._

We mount our horses and set off again toward the castle, the hunting abandoned. I didn’t even get a chance to press Brakken on how he was feeling. _I’ll do it,_ I promise myself. _I have to. I’ve been a shit mentor for too long._

The ride back to the castle is uncomfortable, to say the least, and not just because of the wailing baby. Every so often, I’m slipping back into the Trace and noting that same, inexplicable sting of god. Something’s off about that baby, but I can’t put my finger on it.

Once we’ve made our way back up to the tree-tops and put our horses back in their stables, Sir Strommer leads Brakken, Fiyr, and I into the throne room. It’s around noon and most of the court is back from morning patrols and conversations echo into the room from the dining hall. The queen is just leaving her private chambers when her gaze lands on us and her eyes widen.

“Sir Strommer?” Though she addresses the question to him, her eyes are on the bundle in Fiyr’s arms.

“Your Majesty.” He bows and then glances back at Fiyr. “Ah. Yes, Sir Harte… Sir Sterrip, Brakken, and I were on a hunting patrol by the Creeping Corruption and we found Sir Harte. The baby is his god-toy sister’s.”

The queen’s eyebrows rise higher. “Sir Harte?”

Fiyr clears his throat and steps forward, his chin lifting the smallest amount in defiance. “My queen, what Sir Strommer says is true. My sister had a son not long ago and has reason to believe he won’t be safe in the gods’ estate. She gave him to me to keep him safe and bring him to court.”

“Bring him to court,” she echoes, then strides down the dais to stand on our level and comes over to inspect the bundle. “This is your nephew.”

“Yes, my queen,” he whispers.

“Has his spirit been clipped?” Her eyes are sharp, but I think I detect a hint of softness as she regards the baby.

“I—I don’t know,” Fiyr admits. “I think she’s hidden the baby, but…”

“But there may be a god-enchantment of some kind that would work on him without the gods ever needing to lend a direct hand,” the queen muses aloud. “How old?”

“A year, Your Majesty,” he answers, his lips pressing together in a nervous gesture as if waiting for her to order him to take the baby back to the gods.

“A year,” she repeats, pulling the blanket that the baby’s swaddled in away from its face. “Truly?”

“I—yes?”

I exchange a glance with Sir Strommer. The baby’s age is the queen’s concern? Why?

“Well, what are we to do with a god-toy child?” the queen asks, her hand dropping away from the bundle and she takes a step back as if to distance herself from him.

“Bring him into the court and raise him, my queen,” Fiyr declares. The same defiant lift to his chin makes me think the queen will not take to the idea well.

“We are not in the habit of accepting strays into our court,” she says mildly, but as I guessed, there’s a flicker in her eye.

Fiyr’s eyes narrow. “You accepted me.”

The queen nods, her face unreadable. “We did. Well, I will speak with Sir Cawle.”

Though Fiyr’s jaw tightens, he dips his head. Queen Bluelianna turns and walks toward the dining hall, skirts swishing as she departs. The baby chooses this moment to begin wailing anew.

_Great_.

“Sh, shhh,” Fiyr murmurs to him, but he continues shrieking.

“What in the name of the Starlaxi—” Lady Fyrra, who was guarding the doors, has come over to investigate the sound and spots the baby. “Is that a _baby?_ ”

“It… is,” Sir Strommer acknowledges, watching Fiyr fail to hush the screams.

“I’ll fetch Brindellia, maybe she can help,” Brakken volunteers and hurries off without waiting for my agreement. _I guess my absence has taught him leadership._ It doesn’t sit right with me. _He was forced to grow up when his sister was so terribly injured and... I wasn’t there._

Guilt swamps me. It’s not the first time today I’ve felt my stomach twist and had the urge to punch myself in the face.

“What’s with the stink?” Lady Fyrra demands tactfully, screwing up her face.

“A god-toy,” Sir Strommer murmurs back.

“Ah.”

They fall silent. Fiyr ignores them and continues rocking the baby awkwardly. Trying to distract myself from the self-hatred brought on by realizing how much has been forced on Brakken because of me, I study the baby. He’s big, too big to fit comfortably in just one of Fiyr’s arms.

It’s not easy to distinguish any facial characteristics when the baby’s whole face is screwed up and bright red and he wails, but I can see a shock of white hair on his head, wispy and pointed straight up like cotton fluff. _Odd. I thought only courtborns had strange hair and eyes._ Because of the Blessing that one of the previous kings gave the kingdoms, oftentimes babies born to courtborn mothers will have multi-coloured hair, or hair without any colour at all as a result of the life-force’s interference; then again, it’s a small price to pay for the ladies of the court being able to give birth to two, or three, or more children at once. It’s all that’s kept our population from dwindling entirely.

But this… this _baby_ has that bright white hair all the same. Fiyr’s sister is a god-toy. I can’t explain it. _I wonder if his spirit’s been clipped._ If it has, he won’t last long. The gods have a near-foolproof method of keeping their toys loyal, or at least incapable of leaving.

Strip their life-force and replace it with total reliance on god-charm. Too far from the gods and they’ll waste away into nothing. Fiyr wouldn’t be alive now if he hadn’t somehow escaped his spirit being clipped.

_Is his sister really risking her child’s life on the chance that he might get a better life?_ My heart aches knowing that to make that choice, she had to give him up. _Losing your only child after only a year…_ I shudder.

“What’s that?” Liang Teyl’s nasal voice pierces my pondering. “Is that a baby? What’s wrong with its trace?”

I glance at him. He’s wrinkling up his nose like he inhaled too deeply in the stables and scowling at the baby. Fiyr recoils and glares right back.

“Nothing! He’s a baby! Just a baby!” he snaps, cradling the baby closer to his chest.

I’m taken aback by the fierce defence. _Huh?_ I slip into the Trace and feel for the trace of his nephew. There’s definitely something wrong about it. Here, surrounded by courtborns, its trace is an even more starkly _wrong_ feeling. It’s like god-corruption, but just… just a bit different. _Would it hold the trace of the gods so long after it was removed from them? Maybe a trace changes if it’s spirit clipped._ Whatever it is, there’s something wrong with it.

“Is that thing human?” Sir Teyl demands.

“Of course he is!” Fiyr spits back, turning red. “He’s my sister’s!”

“God-toy sister’s?” Liang echoes, then his face curls up into a nasty smirk that I want to claw off his face. Fiyr’s angry flush darkens, but he doesn’t need to answer. “She been fucking the gods?”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Fiyr screams and the baby starts wailing again.

“Your sister’s been screwing around with the gods?” Sir Styrp, _of course_ , just has to insert himself. “Aw, sorry she dumped the kid on you.”

The implication makes my stomach turn and I check the Trace again. Sussing out whether there’s any truth to Darriek’s insinuation suddenly becomes my second priority when I feel iron and cinnamon gripping my tongue as waves of life-force begin to roll off Fiyr’s outline. _Fiyr’s about to break the law. Again. Shit._

I yank myself out of the Trace and push between Fiyr, whose face is only going brighter red, and Darriek and Liang, who wear identical shit-eating grins. A wave of heat emanates from Fiyr but the two older knights aren’t backing off. The sneers planted on their faces are doing nothing to calm Fiyr down.

“Hey! Knock it off!” I shout in the two of their faces and turn and grab Fiyr’s shoulders. “Fiyr. Take a deep breath, you’re going to hurt the baby! Just relax for a second.”

I feel heat through the fabric of his tunic, but after a moment it fades, though his green eyes are still fiery. He stares at me, breathing hard, then begins to steady and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. Some of the raging heat in his cheeks drains away.

“Okay?” I mumble. Liang and Darriek are sniggering behind me but I can’t look away from Fiyr for fear that he’ll blow up again. “C’mon. Let’s go find the queen.”

Fiyr nods, not speaking. I’m guessing that he’s clenching his teeth hard to stop himself from screaming at Liang and Darriek. It’s more restraint than I’ve seen from him since… a while. _Since Cindra’s accident._ Either way, he follows when I turn with one last anxious glance his way and head for the queen’s chambers.

Immediate disaster averted, my thoughts boil over in anger at Fiyr. _He can’t keep snapping on everyone that makes a snide comment! He needs to get a hold of himself! I’m not going to be around to dig him out of the landslides_ he _triggers forever! I shouldn’t have even helped him there. He needs to learn to get a grip._ Still, the thought of him jumping on Darriek or Liang—or the Starlaxi forbid, both of them—and then being caught by the queen… _She might actually throw him out. After how she reacted when_ we _got into a fight? Fiyr and I were so close for_ years _and he seemed to have no qualms about throwing a full-force punch or two. I don’t want to see what he’d do to someone he’s had it in for for ages like one of those two._ It makes my stomach turn. No matter how ugly things are between us, I don’t want to see him kicked out, or shamed, or punished… _much_.

There’s no time to unpack how I feel about Fiyr breaking rules and being punished further because just when we get to the door to the queen’s chamber, it swings out from the inside. The queen is about to walk right out, into us, when she sees us and stops, cocking her head.

“My queen,” I drop into a half-bow, partially just out of instinct, then straighten and tell her, “Fiyr wanted to speak to you about his nephew.”

“Yes,” Fiyr adds tightly, still looking like he’s fighting to keep himself under control.

“Yes? I’ve spoken to Sir Cawle, and I’d like to address the court as a whole. Can it wait?” she asks, eyes moving back down to the swaddled baby and flickering with the same confusion as before. Like the white-haired baby’s a mystery she can’t quite solve.

“He’s…” Fiyr swallows, then shakes his head. “Nevermind. It can wait.”

“Very well. I’ll address the court now. The captain and I have agreed that he will be permitted to join and be raised in the court, provided he demonstrates within the year.”

I glance at Fiyr, gauging his reaction. _Demonstrations can happen any time from birth to a kid’s twelfth year… and officially, the age has no bearing on how strong they are. Officially._ I press back a familiar sear of humiliation that accompanies the thought of my own demonstration, barely a couple nights before I turned twelve. There were whispers in the court that I inherited my father’s villager life-force. I proved it wrong, but barely. _So why is the queen saying this baby has to demonstrate in a year?_

“And Fiyr, I’d like to speak to you afterwards, alone,” the queen adds, then moves past us toward the dais. She’s wearing a regular tunic, not her ceremony clothes. I don’t wonder at why.

The moment she’s gone, I turn to Fiyr and ask the question that’s liable to get my head kicked in. “Is that baby a half-god?”

Rather than the same blaze of fury that Fiyr reacted with at the same implication being delivered by Darriek Styrp, he simply sags a bit and says, “Yes.’

I suck in a breath. “Are you kidding me? What in the Blacklands do you plan to do with it, then?”

“ _Him_ ,” Fiyr corrects sharply, eyes flashing, and hugs the baby tighter to his chest. “I’m going to raise him in the court.”  
“Have you lost every last bit of your mind!?” I hiss. “ _You_ , who has no experience with children, are going to raise _him_ , a mixed-blood abomination of nature, who could be capable of any number of things the court has _no_ idea about, much less knows how to control?!”

“Don’t call him that.”

“ _Are you listening to me?!_ ” I yell, patience evaporating immediately, and slam my hand on the queen’s table.

“Are _you_ listening to yourself?” he retorts. He’s remarkably calm, but I still see a glint in his eyes. “This is my nephew we’re talking about! Even if he _is_ half-god, he’s going to be raised _away_ from them. He’s half-human too! He’ll learn our ways and grow up like any other member of the court.”

“ _Our_ ways,” I repeat, anger and disgust coiling in me like a snake about to strike, and my worst instinct to go for the throat takes over. “Well, you haven’t learned shit about the court since you left your _owners_ if you think—”

_Snap._ I blink, my gaze clearing on the wall off to my left. My cheek is burning.

“Did… did you…” I blink again, trying to process the fact that Fiyr just backhanded me. The guilty hand has darted back underneath to support the baby, but I can still see the back of his hand colouring as the impact fades and blood returns.

His gaze is defiant, coals of green burning in their depths. He opens his mouth for a moment, but seems to think better of it and just turns and leaves the queen’s chambers. I watch him go, my hand lifting unconsciously to brush my fingertips against my burning cheek and try to grapple with it. Us wrestling in a burst of rage in the moment was one thing—things had been building to that for months.

But Fiyr backhanding me?

_More importantly._ Shame crawls up into my throat and makes a hard ball, stopping me from swallowing. The words I threw in his face, the one thing we had an unspoken agreement I would never use on him in an argument… _I need to apologize. I need—I need to fix this._

Especially since I had begun to think things were getting better between us. _Until I ruined everything. He’s dealing with a half-god baby, and I decided it was the right time to remark on how he used to be a god-toy? Or worse, that he still is?_ I don’t think that, truly. _I have to believe that I don’t_ really _think that about Fiyr… I can’t._

Because that would make me no better than Darriek or Liang with their sneers and barbed comments. No better than every member of the court whose eyes narrow when Sir Cawle puts Fiyr on their patrol. Pain lances through my forehead and I slap my hands over my face. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Just as I’m trying to muster up the courage to go find Fiyr and beg his forgiveness, the queen’s voice rings through the throne room and up the corridors until the castle is thrumming with her amplified voice.

“Let all of the court that have demonstrated their life-force gather for a court meeting!”

I sigh and rub my face with my hands, then leave the queen’s chambers and head for th dais. _Great._ Before I… Before I messed up everything, I’d wanted to tell Fiyr that he needed to tell the queen the truth of the baby’s blood, but my anger got the best of me. _It got the best of me the same way I was mad at Fiyr for letting his anger get the best of him._

_Hypocrite. Idiot._

Now the queen’s going to accept this baby into the court, not knowing that it’s—that he’s… not human. Not _entirely_ human.

“As some of you have seen already, Sir Harte has been given care of his nephew by his god-toy sister out of fear for the baby’s life. Sir Cawle and I have decided that we will accept this baby into the court.” The queen’s announcement is met with murmuring, though no one outright challenges it. _Maybe people’s minds about god-toys have been changed by Fiyr. But this baby’s not just a god-toy, it- he’s..._

_Should I say something?_

But it doesn’t matter what I would have done, because Sir Darriek-the-Starlaxi-damn-him-Styrp gets there first.

“My queen!” he shouts. Queen Bluelianna’s eyes swivel to pin him, her mouth tightening into a line in her obvious displeasure at being interrupted. “My queen, that’s not a baby, it’s a monster!”

“Sir Styrp, are you feeling ill?” she answers.

“My queen,” he continues, undeterred by her frosty reply, “that creature is not a human baby. It is a half-god, half-human monster!”

The court erupts. In the chaos, I see Fiyr quickly backpedal away from the mob, clutching his nephew to his chest. The queen shouts for silence, but it’s futile for several moments of riot until inevitably, every member of the court turns to her for guidance. Sir Styrp turns to Sir Cawle, seeming like he’s looking less for guidance and more for the order to execute the baby.

“Thundria!” the queen shouts. “Silence. Sir Harte. Is this true?”

“Your Majesty—” he manages faintly, but the baby’s started to cry again and he’s distracted. “I—I—One moment, I’m sorry—I—”

“Throw it out!” Sir Styrp shouts and my stomach turns when I hear murmurs of agreement.

“Send it back to the gods—it’s the kindest thing we can do!” Samal Eyre adds, nodding fiercely.

Fiyr’s still trying to silence the baby’s cries, rocking it and murmuring to it, but it shows no signs of stopping. The court’s only getting louder and the queen is still looking at Fiyr, waiting for his explanation.

I take a deep breath. “No! We should let him join the court anyway!”

Members of the court that were close enough to hear me over the rising turmoil turn sharply to stare. Lady Fyrra, Lady Tayel, and even Sir Strommer give me disbelieving looks. I can hardly believe myself, but no matter what that baby is, we can’t just throw it to the wolves. I don’t think Sir Eyre’s idea is possible either; if Fiyr’s sister thought the baby was in enough danger that she was willing to give up her own child, I believe that the baby’s in enough danger that we should be willing to take it in.

“We can’t send him back!” I shout again, but the queen’s ignoring the whole court and waiting for Fiyr to make the baby stop crying.

Finally, the wails of the baby die down, but the court’s still shouting. Few people seem to share my view, but it doesn’t matter for long because Queen Bluelianna shouts for silence again.

“We will take in this baby.” The decision is exceedingly unpopular, but the queen’s face has turned to stone. “ _On the condition_ that he does not demonstrate any control over god-magic. If his human bloodline can supersede the god, then he will be raised as a member of the court. If not, we will find somewhere to send him.”

Fiyr nods, looking ashen at the protest from the court. “Will—will you give him a naming ceremony?”

“You would name a child that has not demonstrated?” One of the queen’s eyebrows lifts. The two of them are practically having their own conversation in front of the shouting court at this point.

“I don’t know if he’ll demonstrate at all,” Fiyr admits. “He’s… he may not have life-force.”

_Then what’s sustaining his existence?_ The unspoken admission that this baby already breaks the laws of nature when it comes to humans chills me. _Who knows what else will be the exception for him?_

“Very well,” the queen allows, but I can tell she’s at the limit of her patience with the court’s dissent.

“I—I want to name him for ‘cloud’,” Fiyr stammers, bypassing the words that he’s never needed to use. The queen’s gaze sharpens—ignoring tradition is not soothing her frayed nerves.

“I name this boy in the light of the Starlaxi for ‘cloud’. He will be known until he takes the crown or joins the Starlaxi as Clowd.” She spells it, then taps her sceptre against the ground. Without a life-force ring for children, it’s more of a ceremonial gesture than anything in naming ceremonies.

_Will Clowd get a life-force ring? Will he have any life-force at all? Or worse…_ The Creeping Corruption comes to mind. _But a baby wouldn’t feed into that kind of destruction. He’s just a baby, don’t be stupid, Graie._ Then again, if he does, it won’t matter what I or anyone else says. The queen’s decided.

If he shows any skill with god-magic, no matter the danger he faces from the gods, he’ll be sent back. I can’t help feeling it isn’t fair, but simultaneously, I know that if the queen had been any more lenient, an entire revolution might have taken place.

As the court begins to disperse, I see more than a few members of the court heading for the queen’s private chambers to confront her. Queen Bluelianna herself stays on the dais and beckons to Fiyr. Without the distraction of the ceremony, my shame at my words to Fiyr returns with a vengeance and I glance at him.

He’s looking back, but his eyes are hard and cold. He turns away and follows the queen into her chambers.

_Later._ My weakness swells inside me until I already know what I’m going to do.


	18. Chapter 17 - Fiyr

Chapter 17 - Fiyr

I follow the queen into her private chambers, anxiety twisting in my stomach. She motions for me to sit, her face revealing nothing. She’s been generous, I know that. Maybe _too_ generous; the court sounded furious. All the same, the restriction she’s put on Clowd’s acceptance into the court and his awkward naming makes me think that I’m not out of the woods yet.

“Sir Harte… _Fiyr_ ,” she emphasizes, steepling her fingers on the desk and locking her gaze on mine. “You understand the position I’m in.”

“I do, my queen. I am—I’m grateful beyond words,” I tell her, rocking Clowd awkwardly in my arms as I ease myself into the chair. “Truly.”

“But?” She tilts her head.

_Or maybe she just sensed that I was unhappy._ “Why did you say that he couldn’t stay if he didn’t demonstrate within a year, and then later that if he showed any ability to control god-magic that you’d send him away?” I try to keep my tone level, but a hint of a whine escapes. I just wish I hadn’t been caught off-guard in front of the court. Or that Darriek hadn’t revealed Clowd’s lineage in the worst way possible.

The queen sighs and rubs her eyes, then her hands fold in front of her again. “There is… there is an aspect to spirit-clipping that is not… not widely understood, but potentially dangerous.”

Cold traces down my back, but I force my voice to stay steady as I ask, “Spirit-clipping? What about it?” _The gods remove human life-force, I know that much from the textbook. It said nothing about it being_ dangerous _though, just that it prevents god-toys from escaping their gods and joining courts or villages._

Queen Bluelianna sighs again and levels her gaze at me. “Fiyr, I took you into Thundria because I believed your fire life-force was a sign from the Starlaxi that the court needed you. Had you not displayed life-force that day, no matter how strong my feeling was, I would have left you where you were.”

“Why?” I demand. _Because I wouldn’t be_ useful _to the court?_

“Because spirit-clipped god-toys that leave their gods die, Fiyr.” Her eyes soften. “It’s an inescapable side-effect of removing their life-force. Without their life-force supporting a person’s existence, their body latches onto whatever other power can sustain them. For god-toys, that power is god-magic.”

A shiver runs over me, unbidden. “Without god-magic, they… they die?”

The queen pauses, then replies, “They weaken over time. However… too long away from the gods, and yes. The god-toy perishes with nothing to sustain them.”

My mind spins with the new information. _So Clowd might—and Prin can’t—but I—_

“Wait a minute, how long have you known this?!” I demand.

“It’s recorded in certain texts,” she answers dismissively. “Why?”

“I could have died! When you brought me to the court! You didn’t tell me that leaving my gods might kill me!” I accuse.

Queen Bluelianna shakes her head. “Fiyr, you were the exception. For some reason, your spirit wasn’t clipped. Your life-force is what supports your life, not the gods. I knew as much when you displayed your fire elementalism.”

“You said it’s not widely understood! What if it had killed me anyway?” Panic at how close I might have come to death almost a decade ago rushes through my voice. Panic for Clowd now.

“What we _do_ know is that when the life-force is removed from a god-toy, it is replaced with dependence on the gods,” she says slowly and steadily like she’s calming a startled horse. “Your life-force was not removed. It couldn’t have been replaced with dependence on god-magic if it was never taken from you.”

I shake my head, leaning back in my chair. Something’s niggling at the back of my mind, but I can’t quite place the feeling. _Without life-force or another source of energy, a person dies… Which means… What?_ I brush it off and hold Clowd tighter. “And what about Clowd?”

Queen Bluelianna spreads her fingers over the wooden desk. “He can stay at the court for a year. If he’s weakening, I have no choice but to send him back to the gods. I won’t let a baby die, no matter what sending him back to the gods will mean. If he demonstrates human life-force, he will remain at court. If he shows ability with god-magic, he must leave; it’s not safe and the court will not allow it. If he can’t perform either but doesn’t appear to be weakening… we will speak again and re-evaluate.”

Looking from her tight lips to Clowd’s peaceful face—for once, thank the Starlaxi—I can’t help feeling like I need to push her further to secure Clowd’s future. But she’s made up her mind; I can either disagree in silence or agree with her decision. I’m in the same situation no matter what. I sigh. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“I believe a few members of the court have… reservations,” the queen adds as I’m standing to leave. “It would be best if you kept Clowd out of their way until their worries can be soothed. I’ll do my best to see that Lady Faise can provide care for the baby, but it remains your responsibility.”

My anger comes to a simmer beneath the surface of my face at her suggestions. _Yes, the court wants to send an innocent baby back into danger and so I should do my very best to accommodate their delicate sensibilities. Of course. And without any experience taking care of babies—Graie was right about that much—I should be the one to take care of Clowd._ “Yes, my queen.”

She waves a hand. “Dismissed.”

When I leave and return to the throne room, my thoughts are of Graie. I heard his outburst in the ceremony, but I’m not feeling particularly grateful for his flimsy words when not five minutes earlier, he… The same dizzying surge of hot anger makes my teeth grind. _I guess that’s all the confirmation I needed, then. Our friendship’s really over._

All the same, I can’t help casting one more gaze around the throne room, hoping to see Graie rush over if I catch his eye, rush over to apologize and beg forgiveness, tell me how he didn’t really mean it, how he just wanted to hurt me because he’s still fucked up over Sir Calew and whatever lingering feelings he has for Silaverre…

But he’s gone. And I know before I check his room that he’s not there, either. I’m certain I know where he’s gone.

I’m not following him this time.

…

A week later, I’ve decided I’m never going to be a father.

Actually, I’ve decided I’m going to throw the next baby I see out a window.

Clowd is still yelling in my arms. It’s not even crying, at this point. He’s just red-faced and screaming for no one to hear; I’ve taken him out behind the stables to stop the stares from within the castle if nothing else. While Lady Faise’s been extremely helpful when it comes to feeding him and instinctively knowing when he’s hungry or needs his nappy changed, I can’t banish a feeling of guilt every time I hand off the screaming Clowd to her and hope that she can fix it with whatever baby life-force the Starlaxi gave her alongside animal summoning.

That’s how I found myself trying to calm myself with a deep, manure-scented breath behind Thundria’s stables, cradling my half-god nephew and staring blankly out at the horizon.

I’ve been avoiding Graie all week. More than I was before, that is. It’s not hard to do, for that matter, when every day he’s either _mysteriously_ absent from court or taking Brakken on all-day solo training to try to make up for it. And when I’m so busy with Clowd, Cindra, and Brakken on Graie’s _off_ days, not to mention all my regular patrols, I hardly see anyone, let alone him.

Today, I was going to take Clowd off Brindellia’s hands for the morning, then visit Cindra before lunch and then after, take Brakken out for a hunting expedition to the Shodawes border. I’m already feeling drained and the sun’s hardly up.

_Maybe I’ll take Clowd with me to visit Cindra and sneak in a nap before lunch,_ I decide and glance down at Clowd, who _finally_ seems to be settling down and think, _Yeah, that’s a good plan. Cindra’s been asking to get a formal introduction anyway._

In the past year, Cindra has been steadily worsening. Yllowei still can’t find a way to remove the corruption from her leg, keeping it and her life-force effectively paralyzed, but she’s got Cindra doing stretches to keep the rest of her body in shape and made a kind of wooden staff for Cindra to use to walk. Despite Yllowei’s efforts, she’s weakening. The stretches help keep her spirits up and keep her busy, but there are days when she can’t lift her head off her pillow. My squire’s doing a lot of work for herself, though; I don’t know how she manages it, but she’s kept a positive attitude throughout.

I head back into the castle, praying that Clowd’s relative peacefulness will at least last the visit to Cindra so she and my nephew can get acquainted without the latter trying to shatter the windows in the healer’s wing by hitting the top of his vocal range for sixty consecutive seconds. But before I can walk into the healer’s wing, I’m stopped in the hallway by Yllowei Fennen.

“Sir Harte,” she rasps, eyes as sharp and cool as pebbles deep set in her wrinkles of her face like water-swept sand. Though there’s no obvious sickness plaguing her, as Cindra has weakened, so has she. The little colour left in her sallow cheeks has leached away and her rasp has dropped to practically a whisper. I have a suspicion about the link between Cindra’s weakness and seemingly random days of strength and Yllowei’s frailty, but the thought hasn’t passed my lips.

At the look in her eye, my stomach drops. _Bad news, then._

“I want you to tell Cindra she won’t be able to return to her squire duties, and tell her today. I can’t find a way to stop the corruption, and even if I could, the damage to her leg is irreparable and her life-force may stay weakened or unreliable.”

It’s like a gut punch. _She really doesn’t sugarcoat things. I knew this was coming… but today? Does it have to be today? Does it have to be me?_ “I… okay. I’ll tell her. What should I say?”

“That she won’t be able to return to her squire duties,” Yllowei repeats, but when I give her a dark look, she sighs and adds, “but that she’s still a valuable member of the court and that we all love her very much. I need to go run some errands.”

_Great. Thanks._ I give the healer one last nervous glance as she begins to hobble slowly away. _I should get Brakken to start running errands for her. She’s getting too old, and_ whatever _it is that’s making her worse isn’t helping._ “Alright.”

But it’s not alright, because the moment I see Cindra, pulling herself out of bed and grabbing the stick leaning on the wall to hobble over, the moment she greets me with a big smile and wraps her arms around my side, trying to avoid squishing Clowd, my eyes fill with tears and I can’t swallow.

“Mentor-man’s back!” she exclaims, then a cough wracks her body and she leans over to inspect Clowd with big, though dull, eyes. “And he brought this cute little guy! Who are you, little knight?”

I press my lips together and try to force the stinging out of my nose, but it’s too late. Fat tears slide off my eyelashes and drop onto the blanket that Clowd’s bundled in. One drop lands right in front of Cindra’s face and she pulls away quickly and glances up at me, then her eyes widen.

“Are you—what’s wrong?!” Her brows furrow in worry and I can barely manage adjusting my grip on Clowd to wipe my tears off.

“N—nothing, you should—should show me those exercises Yllowei’s got you doing,” I croak. “C’mon, I’m sure I could learn something.”

She still looks a bit alarmed at my barely-concealed anguish but nods and backs up to her bed and sits with a half-stifled grunt of pain. “Look, she’s got me doing these leg-lifts to keep my hips strong so it’ll be easier to walk with the staff. She calls me ‘an old-lady-in-training.’”

“Yeah, watch out or she’ll turn you into a copy of her,” I try to joke, but my voice is so painfully ragged that it falls flat. Cindra gives me that same concerned look. _She looks like she’s aged decades since the soul._ “Leg-lifts? Alright, let’s see them.”

She nods again and screws up her face with effort, grinding her teeth together, then lifts her bad leg out straight in front of her. She manages to keep it there for a few seconds before gently lowering it.

_Never walk without help again. Never run again. Never hunt again, never fight, never—_ A small sound dies in my throat before I can form the thoughts aloud. _Damn Yllowei for not telling Cindra and making me do it instead._

“Stuff like this _really_ makes me miss all the days of aching butts from riding Ashes,” Cindra jokes hoarsely and I nod and force a smile for her sake. “Y’know, sometimes I have these awesome dreams where I’m out in the forest with Brakken and we’re tracking down this really big deer and we’re going to bring it down together, and then… then I roll over in my sleep and my leg wakes me up and I just look at the ceiling in the dark and—and wonder when I’m going to be able to go back.” She glances down at her leg.

_No, no no no—_ Something comes unstuck inside me and I let out a choppy breath. “Cindra…”

She looks up, those blue eyes that have faded to gray in the past year, now filled with tears. “It’s… it’s never going to happen, is it?”

I can’t manage the words. I just shake my head.

“No. I knew… I think I knew for a while,” she says quietly, half to herself, but the words start streaming out faster and faster, one after another, piling up on each other. “I—I had this feeling, y’know? I couldn’t describe it, just this awful… _knowing_. And I hoped those dreams were from the Starlaxi or something, that they were telling me the future with Brakken. But they weren’t, because squires don’t _get_ dreams from the Starlaxi. I’m not—not a healer, not a prophesied knight. They weren’t the future. Just memories, because I’m never going to be able to go out into the forest with my brother—without—without help again.”

I sit down beside her and without saying another word, she leans on my shoulder and starts to cry.

Clowd starts fussing, but I just set him down carefully on the bed next to me so I can put both of my arms around Cindra. I don’t know how long we spend like that, her shaking in my arms and me holding on and praying to the Starlaxi that they’ll show me some way to help her, but it’s when Clowd finally starts to cry as well that I’m pulled out of the fog of sorrow.

I pick him up and try to shush him, still half-holding onto Cindra, but he keeps wailing, and worse, starts to try to struggle out of my arms and toward Cindra. She looks up and lets out something halfway between a sob and a laugh as he stretches toward her, still howling. As he struggles, she reaches out a shaky hand to take his tiny one in hers.

Before I can stop him, Clowd lunges out of my arms and lands on Cindra’s lap. She lets out a cry of pain when he collides with her bad leg and I immediately reach out to grab him, but I’m just one moment too late to stop him from reaching out a little hand and planting it on the fabric covering Cindra’s corrupted knee.

Cindra reaches out to pick him up as well but her hands freeze midair and she sucks in a breath. I stare, forgetting myself and just watching as Clowd burbles happily, finally allowed on Cindra’s lap.

A moment later, I snap back to reality and on instinct, shift into the Trace.

_No…_ God-magic, undeniable. But there’s a hint of something else, something not quite god-like, yet not fully human. It feels like an elementalist’s life-force, but for no element I can identify. Cindra’s leg is glowing: first blue and pink, then yellow and purple, green and orange, then the colours fade like a gust of wind dispersing mist.

I drop out of the Trace and stare at where Clowd’s still hanging on to Cindra’s knee. He’s stopped crying, at least, but it hardly even registers because Cindra’s pulling Clowd off and rolling up her pant leg and…

“How…” she whispers, then her head whips around and she stares at me, suddenly wide-eyed and more animated that I’ve seen her in months. “It’s… it’s gone. My… the corruption… it’s gone!”

I stare at her knee, hardly able to believe it. _Did the Starlaxi hear my prayers?_ Her skin is smooth, barely blemished. It looks a bit red, but it’s not covered in corruption. “Did…”

The implications of this hit me like a soul. _Clowd took away the corruption. Clowd can control god-magic. Clowd is going to be kicked out of the court._

“Shit.”

“Excuse me?” Cindra exclaims, staring at me like I’ve finally lost my mind. “This is awesome news! I might be able to walk more easily! I might be able to use my life-force again! Blessed Starlaxi, it’s a miracle!”

_It’s not a miracle, it’s a horribly ironic cursed blessing._ I look down at Clowd and can’t help cringing. He’s grinning up at me and then says, “Leg ?”, then cocks his head and waits for approval.

“You…” I just stare at the baby for several moments, then glance up at Cindra. “This is—it’s amazing.”

“Yes! It is!” she cheers, then frowns at me when she sees my expression. “What’s wrong, then?”

“I—” I shake my head. _I can’t spoil this for her. She’ll think it’s her fault._ “Nothing, it’s nothing. I didn’t know he could do that. It’s amazing! Let’s go get you some cinders right now!”

I sweep Clowd up into my arms and hurry out into the hallway before she can notice my tight expression. I hear Cindra whoop behind me as I run out.

The moment I’m in the hallway, the panic hits full-force. _Well, what in the Blacklands do I do now? I can’t tell the queen. I can’t let the court find out. I have to tell Cindra that she needs to keep it a secret. But Yllowei’s going to notice that the corruption’s not on her leg anymore! What are we going to say? That the Starlaxi came down from the stars to whisk it away?!_

I pace, still rocking Clowd, who’s babbling nonsense and grabbing at my face. He’s taken to calling me ‘Fee’ when he wants my attention and now he mixes it in with all his cooing. My mind’s still racing.

_Maybe I can swear Cindra and Yllowei to secrecy. But if they know, then Brakken’s going to find out, and if he knows, he might tell Graie, and since Graie’s apparently a fu—_

“Fee, leg!” Clowd insists.

“Shh, shh, I know, buddy,” I murmur, smoothing his white hair down. “Shhh. I know you just wanted to help her. It’s just that... the court won’t see it like that… I want to protect you, buddy. Just wanna keep you safe.”

He mumbles something unintelligible and squirms in my arms, rolling over to better nestle into my chest. My heart swells with love and fear for him as I look down into his little face. He’s buried it in the lightning emblem of Thundria on my chest.

“Just wanna keep you safe,” I whisper again, swallowing hard, and then take a deep breath and head toward the nursery to give him to Brindellia. I’m halfway there before my steps falter when something occurs to me. _What if he does more god-magic?_ But Cindra’s going to tell Yllowei what happened the second the old healer gets back to the castle and Yllowei is sharp as a true-steel sword. Damage control on what Cindra knows is more important than the off-chance that Clowd will do it again.

I’m still nervous as I pass him to Brindellia, who murmurs a little greeting to him and gives him a kiss on his forehead. She gives me a quick smile and turns to the two side-by-side cradles, where Faern is sleeping, and lowers Clowd into the unoccupied one. Despite the disparity in ages, I’m struck by how similar they look. Maybe it’s just because they’re both babies, but I’ll take whatever reassurance I can get that there’s no difference between him and other babies. I glance at Lady Fuor sitting on the other side of the nursery, teaching her two eleven-year-olds how to find the quickest route through different kinds of terrains with an atlas of the kingdoms’ territories, and hope that the strong-willed lady of the court won’t raise a fuss again about Clowd. _And I hope Clowd doesn’t give her any reason to._

All I can do is send yet another prayer to the Starlaxi though, because Cindra will expect me back with the cinders and I can’t let her know anything’s wrong until I know what in the Blackland’s name I’m supposed to do now. _First, the cinders._

I run to the kitchen and take a glass bowl out of a cabinet, then pull open the oven with my bare hands as Sewif, on kitchen duty, watches incredulously. Inching my unprotected hand into the heat as far as I dare, I scoop up some white-hot cinders. I feel a familiar heat in my chest as my life-force protects my hands from being turned to mush by the temperature of the oven.

“What are you…” Sewif’s slightly nasal demand trails off as I hurry back out of the kitchen.

I make it back to the healer’s wing without crashing into anyone and sending the hot cinders flying through the air, but even when I stop to catch my breath, my mind keeps racing. I have until Yllowei gets back to figure out how to handle this.

“Cindra, here!” I say, feigning joy as I give her the bowl of cinders.

Her face is solemn but hope dances in her blue eyes and it makes my heart ache. I wish I could be overjoyed instead of having this roiling feeling of apprehension in my stomach. Oblivious to my internal turmoil, Cindra cups the bowl in her hands and closes her eyes, brows furrowing in concentration.

I hold my breath and watch. I’m shocked by how much better not five minutes of corruption-free knees has made her; her cheeks have coloured like the sun rising after a long night and painting the sky pink, her breaths seem to be deeper, and her hands are steady, unshaking.

At first, my stomach sinks as nothing happens, then a sudden tremor runs over the cinders and they’re rolled aside by one rising out of the middle and hanging in the air, only a couple of centimetres above the surface of the cinders, but glowing in the sunlight that pours in from the windows behind Cindra, then brighter and brighter until it’s practically aflame.

“Praise the Starlaxi,” I whisper and the cinder drops back into the bowl, _chink_ ing as it lands on the other cinders.

Cindra slowly opens her eyes and looks at me, then a smile begins to spread across her face and her eyes fill with tears again. “Fiyr… it’s back. I—it’s back!”

“Praise the Starlaxi,” I repeat louder, voice shaking, but this time my words are genuine and I can’t help lunging across the cot and bundling her into my arms in a bear hug. Cindra startles and the bowl of cinders goes flying out of her hands and spills across the cot.

“Agh! You oaf!” she exclaims, but laughter bubbles out of both of us, giddy, relieved, overjoyed, and uncaring about the holes singed in the sheets of the cot as the overturned cinders start to smoke. “I can’t believe it!”

My chest is warm and it’s a moment before I realize it’s not just the swell of relief, it’s Cindra’s hot tears and… the cinder.

“Oh—oops—” I stammer, pulling away as I try to grab the cinders before Cindra gets burned again, but she pushes my hand away and starts picking them up, one by one and tucking them against her palm, unfazed by the hot cinders. “Cindra—you’re not…”

“Fire can’t burn heat-based elementalists,” she tells me, and it rings a memory that I’d forgotten until now.

_She wanted a pet phoenix,_ I remember and swallow a noise that was either going to be a laugh or a cry if it came out. “Using my own words against me…”

“You taught me well.” Her grin melts into a smile soft as a cloud and twice as fragile. “My life-force really is back. The corruption… it must have just blocked it, not taken it away entirely.”

I shake my head and hug her again, unable to help the beaming smile that has affixed itself to my face. An enormous pressure has lifted itself off my chest. The only thing that’s still on my mind… _What am I going to do about Clowd?_ Her arms tighten around me, then release.

“Cindra…” I trail off, holding her shoulders lightly and looking right into her eyes, searching for a way to explain why I’m not pouring us wine and throwing a party. “This…”

“Is fantastic? Is a miracle? Is unbelievable?” she finishes, then gives me a half-frown, half-smile and asks, “Alright, what’s wrong with you?”

My hands slide off her shoulders and land in my lap and I sigh. “Cindra… what you have to understand is… I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” she agrees, but the skeptical look doesn’t leave her eyes. “What’s the catch?”

I run a hand through my hair and admit, “Clowd.”

“What about him? He saved me, right? He destroyed the corruption,” she says slowly, shaking her head like she still doesn’t understand.

_What’s the difference between life-force and god-magic?_

Sir Cawle’s dark eyes and hard-set mouth float up into my memories.

_Summoners, elementalists, and alchemists manipulate, Fiyr. Even strong summoners and elementalists who seem to create their power out of nothing are really just drawing form out of the energy of life-force that is all around us._

_And god-magic?_

_God-magic is destruction and creation. Infinitely more powerful. Bending the rules of reality. Setting rules on things, like their horses to force them to run faster, or setting rules on reality, like pulling a tree out of existence. Sucking life-force out of the world and corrupting the space left behind._

I shiver.

“Cindra… he can use god-magic.” The words are defeated and quiet.

Her eyes widen. “How the fu—how—how is that possible?”

“Because…” _She wasn’t at the meeting. She still doesn’t know…_ I twist my hands around each other and take a deep breath. “Because, Cindra, he’s half-god. His father was a god.”

Her face is stricken. “He… he was? How? I mean—oh, blessed Starlaxi. Does the queen know?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “The whole… the whole court knows.”

“And they agreed to let him stay at court?” Cindra demands, disbelieving and I wince.

“They… the queen said he could stay on one condition.”

“Which was?”

“That he never demonstrate ability with god-magic,” I murmur. “He… I didn’t know, Cindra. I wouldn’t have brought him if I had…”

But that’s a lie. I saw Prin’s expression, I watched the heartbreak in her eyes as she passed the baby to me, as Clowd began to cry as I rode away… It was the only way for him. Even if he’d been the one _solely_ responsible for the Creeping Corruption, I would’ve taken him in. I would have lied, just to keep him safe from the gods.

“Oh no…” Cindra shakes her head. “Oh—oh no. They’re going to throw him out.”

I nod, trying to hold back the fear and grief that threatens to well up inside again.

“We can’t let that happen,” she decides aloud, shaking her head firmly. “We can’t. We can’t tell anyone about him helping me.”

_If only it were that easy._ I shake my head. “Cindra, Lady Fennen’s gonna be back any minute, and she’s going to see how much better you’re doing.”

As though proving my point, she gets out of bed and grabs her walking stick, wearing only a white undershirt and baggy white underpants and starts to pace, the stick clicking against the stone with each step, like she’s got too much energy in her mind and needs to let out some of it through movement. _Like she did before the accident._

The picture of her hobbling back and forth quickly across less than five metres of stone floor, her face in deep concentration, wearing just underclothes that are dusted with soot from the cinders is so ridiculous that I can’t help but laugh.

“Come on, focus,” she chides, still pacing and giving me a glare on her way past. “What are we going to do?”

“It’s so—so fu—so messed up,” I sigh, dropping my head into my hands so I don’t need to watch her hobble by again. “Clowd would _die_ if he didn’t have god-magic, did you know that? If he didn’t have god-magic, and he didn’t have life-force, he’d die. It’s some big secret the queen’s keeping; god-toys can’t leave their mansions because when their spirits get clipped, their souls latch onto god-magic to keep them alive.”

Cindra stops pacing for a moment. “What? Really?”

I nod. “Without life-force or something else to keep a soul alive, you die.”

She frowns. “What if someone lost their life-force? Would they drop dead?”

“Well, it’s not instantaneous, they would… have...” I trail and my eyes slowly widen. I lift my head and stare at Cindra. She stares right back, alarm drifting across her face. “Blessed Starlaxi.”

Her ashen face this morning. Her pink cheeks and animated expressions now. The corruption on her knee, the strength that appears to have surged back into her when it was destroyed...

_The weakness… she wasn’t sick. It wasn’t the corruption itself, it was just that her life-force… was blocked._

“I was _dying_ ,” Cindra says slowly like she can’t believe what she’s saying. “I almost died. I was _going_ to die without my life-force.”

For the second time today, my heart tightens at how close death was without me knowing it. “Your life-force was blocked by the corruption. You wouldn’t really have...”

She shakes her head, the alarm morphing into amazement. “Clowd saved my life. It wasn’t just loss of life-force, it was… it was going to be loss of life if my life-force stayed gone.”

When the initial shock of Cindra’s brush with death wears off, the immediate problem surges back and I curl my hands into fists. “He saved your life and it’s going to get him kicked out of the court!”

“That’s not fair!” she exclaims, eyes lighting with blue fire. “We can’t let it happen! Surely it won’t!”

I can’t share her conviction. I’ve seen the faces of the court and the reactions when they found out about his lineage. Knowing that strange hair isn’t the only thing he inherited from his father isn’t going to go well. But that’s an understatement. If, the Starlaxi forbidding, Sir Cawle or Sir Styrp found out… I might as well strap the Thundrian armory to Clowd and throw him into the Rivien sea.

My heart sinks at the thought. “Cindra… I don’t think they’ll be swayed. It needs to stay a secret.”

Cindra’s brow furrows. “But you said yourself, Yllowei’s going to notice.”

“Then we’ll swear her to secrecy,” I say.

“But Brakken’s going to notice too,” she counters.

“Then we’ll swear him to secrecy too!” I answer desperately. “Please, Cindra, they’ll send him back. He’ll die, or be taken away by the gods, or Prin will be hurt—I can’t let it happen.”

Cindra’s shoulders slacken. “What if it happens again? Will you be able to hide it twice?”

“I…” I hesitate. “I have to. The other option… no. I won’t let Clowd come to harm. Please, Cindra, I know I’m asking a lot, but we need to… we can’t let this get out. The Starlaxi willing, this was a fluke and he can’t actually do god-magic properly.”

Cindra’s look of concern deepens. “Fiyr, we don’t know anything about god-magic. If he really can… who’s going to teach him?”

I shake my head, face set in grim lines. “No. We’ll just keep it a secret and if he ever does it again… I’ll handle it.”

“What do we tell Yllowei, then?” She’s changing tactics, but the same look of worry is etched in her face.

“That…” I work both hands through my hair, half-hoping I can pull some brilliant idea out of the roots. My eyes land on the overturned glass bowl lying on the bed beside me. “That I brought you cinders to practice with and… and that, uh, the corruption disappeared…”

“When I ate them,” she suggests.

“Ate them? No, why would you eat them?” I frown. “She’d never believe that.”

“How about we say that the cinders burned it off?” she volunteers. “Like, you poured the cinders over the corruption and they destroyed it.”

I tilt my head. “I don’t know much about god-magic but I don’t think it just vanishes without… without the help of a god.”

She throws her hands up into the air. “Then say that you melted it!”

“But it’s gone!” I protest. “What are we gonna use to…”

Our eyes land on the glass bowl at the same time. Cindra scrambles back into bed and pulls the white cloth up over her knee to expose where the corruption had festered for a year. I grab the bowl and turn it upside down on her kneecap, then focus and draw heat to me.

_Come on. Hotter._ The glass is only cool under my palms for a moment before it starts to absorb the flames that flicker out from my hands and softens. More than five seconds can’t have passed before the glass starts to glow orange. My flames are so much hotter than they were when I was a squire.

Cindra is watching in silent amazement as it loses its shape and begins to drop in thick, heavy globs languidly down her knee, wrapping it in the same kind of transparent prison that the corruption did. I lift my hands off it and watch as it forms a thin shell over her knee, the majority of it pooling on either side and making pools of molten glass on the cot. Smoke rises from the bed spread, and for a moment I’m worried it’s going to catch on fire, but the glass gradually cools and the sheets are just more singed than before.

“That’s…” Cindra examines it. “It looks a lot like the corruption. But what are we supposed to say? That the cinders sucked the god-magic out of it and turned it into glass?”

“Sure,” I shrug. “It’s not more improbable than you _eating_ cinders and being fixed.”

Cindra nods. “Okay, here, let’s say that you put the cinders on my knee and then something weird happened to the corruption… and we wanted to wait for her to get back to examine _what_ happened.”

“And she’ll check the Trace and see that it has no god-magic trace in it anymore,” I finish. “Then we can shatter the glass and throw it out and she’ll never be the wiser.”

“Check the Trace,” Cindra urges. “Make sure she’ll come to that conclusion.”

_She sure got wise in the last year._ I slip out of this reality and blink open my eyes in the murky fifth dimension. My own life-force slams into me instantly; the glass on her knee reeks of iron and cinnamon, as familiar as the feeling of my own tongue sitting in my mouth. But pushing past that, I can feel what I now recognize is the last fading bits of Clowd’s magic. The same bizarre blend of god-magic and elementalist trace greets me when I hold it closer.

But it could easily be passed off as the last of the corruption from Cindra’s leg. My own life-force isn’t much of a problem either—I could just say I was lighting up the cinders if Yllowei asks. That being settled, I drop out of the Trace.

“It should work,” I assure her. “Clowd didn’t leave a recognizable trace.”

Cindra lets out a long breath and drops her head back against the pillows. “Oh, thank the Starlaxi. This… this is the best day. Ever.”

“I’m happy for you,” I admit. “Even with the mess with Clowd. I’m just glad you’re alive.”

“Me, too!” she agrees with vehemence, eyes glittering with a strange mixture of mischief and relief. “Man, the world would suck without me.”

I let out a burst of laughter and lean over to hug her again, still shaken by the knowledge that we almost lost her forever. “Yeah, yeah, it would.”


	19. Chapter 18 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm holding a poll over on my tumblr about whether to catch AO3 up to fanfiction.net! warriors-kingdoms.tumblr.com

Chapter 18 - Fiyr

It’s finally spring; the birds have begun to chirp again, buds peek out of bushes, animals poke noses out of burrows, and I’m about three minutes away from losing my damn mind.

Well, a few things happened first. Yllowei swallowed the line about the cinders and Cindra’s life-force and since then, my ex-squire’s improved dramatically and marches around the castle daily, running errands for Yllowei, her staff clicking on the stone with each step.

Mercifully, Clowd’s control over god-magic seems to have disappeared since the day with Cindra in the healer’s wing and I’ve buried the memory in the uneventful following months. Since then, Clowd has grown like a weed; his tufts of white hair have turned into a thick head of snowy-white curls and his blue eyes have lost their innocent roundness, gaining a gleam of mischief.

More than a gleam, to tell the truth. He has a talent for it. So I wasn’t very surprised when one warm spring morning Brindellia Faise nearly knocks Samn and I over with the declaration that Faern and Clowd have somehow disappeared from the nursery.

“What do you mean, they’re missing?” Samn demands.

“They’re gone! They’re not anywhere in the castle!” Brindellia answers, her hands twisting around each other fretfully.

I stare at her panicked expression, but I’m not really taking in the image of her face, just staring at a point in space and trying to figure out what the next step is. Samn is the opposite: the news of Faern and Clowd’s disappearance has set a fire under him and he takes a step toward the castle doors, seems to think better of it and doubles back. He glances at Brindellia, then at me, and finally says,

“Well, we need to find them!”

“Of course we do!” Brindellia exclaims and groans. “A three and four-year-old in the forest? Something terrible’s going to happen to them, I just know it will.”

“Let’s go look for them, then,” I finally find my voice and say.

“Where are we supposed to start?” Samn asks no one.

“They can only have gone into the forest,” I reason. “Faern’s demonstrated, so she’ll leave a trace, and they’re young. They won’t have made it far.”

Lady Faise groans.

“Mom, we’ll find them soon, try not to worry while we’re gone,” Samn murmurs to her and gives her a quick hug, then nods at me and we set off.

As we’re leaving the castle, Samn’s eyes flick to me and he asks in a low tone, “Should we bring the horses?”

I glance at the stables and then back at him, before I answer: “Let’s try on foot first.”

He nods, and we cross the pavilion to the ladder and the break in the treetops. Samn slides down the trunk like a knight and I take the ladder like a squire. When we hit the forest floor, I consider bringing up his continued lack of advancement in rank, but think better of it.

We’re nearly twenty years old and he’s still sleeping in the squire nooks with Brakken and Sewif, who are several years younger. Duss is too, but I’m… less concerned with where he spends his nights. It’s getting ridiculous. _Maybe I should say something to the queen._ But just imagining how angry and embarrassed Samn would be is enough to put the idea out of my head.

I shift into the Trace as we start to walk and reach out for Faern’s fresh, leafy life-force and grudgingly, Clowd’s sort-of-elementalist, sort-of-god-magic trace as well. Despite the utter lack of him showing any more ability to manipulate corruption since the incident with Cindra, Clowd’s trace has stayed stubbornly god-like and I feel a nervous shiver every time I feel it.

Sure enough, the nearly-god trace is carried by the wind to us from the east. I signal to Samn and he nods, taking the lead and heading for a copse of maple trees. A moment later, Faern’s trace washes over me too, even more strongly than Clowd’s.

“She’s nearby,” I whisper to Samn.

“Faern!” he shouts without missing a beat. “Faern, where are you?!”

A second later, a little pale-haired girl pops her head out of a bush. Her gray hair and wide eyes remind me so much of Cindra before the accident that my heart squeezes, but I take a deep breath and put on a stern face as Samn begins the lecture.

“What were you thin—”

“Shh!” she interrupts, beckoning us closer with one pudgy hand. “Cowd’s _hunting_!”

Her inability to pronounce my nephew’s name is cute in every situation except this one: Clowd, hunting? The implication that her explanation brings makes nerves rush through me and I’m dizzy for a moment before I regain my bearings and start damage control.

“How is he hunting?” I whisper to Faern as we approach carefully, Samn wary of spooking his half-sister and making her run deeper into the forest, and me desperate to be told that Clowd isn’t using his god-magic.

“His sparkles, silly!” she says matter-of-factly before she ducks back into the bush.

As we follow her in, Samn shoots me a puzzled look. Horror claws its way up my back. _Samn doesn’t know. Fuuuuck me._ Maybe when Faern says his sparkles, it’s no—

A burst of light blinds Samn and I momentarily as we try to push through the bush and into the clearing on the other side. “Shit, shit, shitshitshit,” I mutter under my breath.

“Don’t swear in front of the kid,” Samn scolds, sounding relieved that we’ve found Faern and very, very confused as to why I’ve apparently lost all control of my mouth.

I just let out a low groan, still hanging on to the last scrap of hope that Clowd’s not using his god-magic. When the fuzzy spots from the flash of light fades from my vision, I spot my three-year-old nephew looking like a demon as he crouches over the brutalized body of a doe.

“Shit.” This time, Samn’s not reprimanding me. He’s too busy staring in shock. And so am I.

“Fiyr!” Clowd exclaims. “Look, look! I caught a deer like you and Samn are always doing!”

My heart drops into my stomach as I stare at the deer’s corpse. Just like I feared, long spikes of sparkling corruption are sticking out of its blood-soaked belly. _No, no, no._

“Fiyr, what is that?” Samn asks slowly and when I don’t reply, says, “Alright. Don’t answer that. Has he done that before?”

Clowd cocks his head, hearing Samn’s words, and glances between us, perplexed. “I thought you… the court needs food… so I caught a deer.”

I press my hands to my temples and try to fend off the oncoming headache. “Samn… he’s never _produced_ corruption.” _Which is true… technically._

“But…?” He won’t be thrown off so easily.

“Can we talk about this once the children are safe?” I beg.

Samn’s gone from shocked by the situation to alternating between staring at me and Clowd with a coolly evaluating gaze. Now, he turns to me and nods slowly. “We have to talk about this. The queen needs to know about this… incident.”

_No!_ But I can convince him of that later; I need to deal with Clowd first. I just bob my head and turn away from him to hurry over to my pale-haired nephew.

That shock of white-hair reaches up past my waist now and when he stands from where he was crouching by the deer, his eyes are defiant. I already know it’s because I haven’t praised him for his catch, but I don’t have time to deal with his delicate ego, because his place in the court is in jeopardy and it takes priority over his irritation.

“Clowd, listen to me,” I preempt his remark and he shuts his mouth, a mutinous look beginning to take over his face. “Never _ever_ use your sparkles.”

“My life-force?” His head tilts quizzically. “Why not? I’m really good! I took down that deer!”

“I saw that,” I reply, pained, and then, choosing my words carefully, add, “but the problem is that… you have a kind of life-force that the court… can’t see.”

“It’s invisible?”

“No, Clowd, they—they’ll… be very upset if they see you doing it,” I try to explain it simply, but Clowd’s frown is deepening by the second.

“But I did a good thing! Look at the deer!” he insists.

“Clowd—”

“Look!”

“Clowd, _never use it again!_ ” I shout. He recoils, wide-eyed at my loud tone.

“Fiyr…” Samn’s quiet voice brings me back to reality.

My shoulders slacken and I kneel, reaching for Clowd, who has gone stone-still. I take hold of his arms gently but he’s staring at the ground. “Hey. Hey, buddy, listen to me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

He sniffs. Tears form in the corners of his eyes but they don’t fall and he sniffs again, then he mutters, “Whatever.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, shame washing over me. _What was I thinking? He’s just a little kid. He didn’t know any better._ “Have you used it before?”

Clowd doesn’t say anything, just continues staring at his feet.

“One time, he—” Faern cuts in eagerly, oblivious to Clowd’s stormy mood.

“Shut up!” Clowd snaps over my shoulder at her.

“Hey!” Samn interjects, stepping between his half-sister and my nephew. “Don’t talk to her like that!”

“Clowd, we’re going back to the castle,” I tell him, fighting to keep my tone calm. “Can we talk more? I know that you’re—”

“Leave me alone!” he growls, shaking free of my hands and returning to his deer. “I’m bringing this back. Faern, help me.”

But he’s not getting any help from his adopted sister; she’s got a hurt scowl on her face and she’s staying put behind Samn, whose hands are now on his hips. _So much for cool-as-a-cucumber-Samn when things turn toward his family._ But now is not the time to contemplate what an excellent father he’d make.

“I’ll take it, Clowd,” I mutter finally, breaking the tension rising between Samn in front of Faern, whose lip is quivering, and Clowd, whose face darkens rapidly. “Just… let’s go, please?”

Clowd turns away from his adopted sister, thank the Starlaxi, with a grunt and bends to grab the deer, unfazed by the pale spikes that protrude from its flank. I reach gingerly for the front half and hoist it up. Clowd has no trouble yanking his half up into the air either, to my surprise. I was fully ready to grovel for help to Samn and then just pray to the Starlaxi that the kids didn’t kill each other on the way back.

“Come on,” Samn eventually grunts and we set off, Faern waddling along irately while clutching Samn’s right hand and Clowd and I bringing up the rear with his catch.

I debate whether I should praise him for the deer or not. While nearly every section of my mind is occupied with worrying to death over whether Samn’s going to expose his secret to the court, or if Faern will, or if Clowd will slip up and somehow reveal it to the court on his own, there’s still a small part that’s pretty impressed.

_I mean, he’s three. How did he and Faern ever get out of the nursery without Brindellia spotting them in the first place?_ He certainly doesn’t act three, from what I remember of Sewif, Briatte, and Thorrin’s early years. Even compared to Faern, who still has a year on him, he’s more mature and strings together ideas quicker and more coherently than she does. Not to mention his growth; he’s nearly a head taller than her. I’m hoping that he’s just a big kid… still, I’m suspecting that it has something to do with his father.

_I wish I could meet Clowd’s dad,_ I think, glancing back at my nephew. _I’d_ toast _him for his excellent fatherhood skills. Sarcasm, sarcasm._

But even imagining stringing up some giant white-haired god and burning him in… places where he would definitely feel it… doesn’t help much with the current situation. I stare at Samn’s back as he continues through the forest. No matter how much time I’ve spent examining his retreating form, I still can’t read his emotions from behind, and it’s more annoying than ever. Is he going to tell the queen about Clowd?  
I’ll forgive him for years of mixed messages and hot-and-cold behaviour if I can just figure out if he’s going to force my nephew back to the gods. _On one hand, I think he cares enough to hear me out if I tell him that Clowd’s going to be in danger if he goes back, but… on the other hand, he’s so loyal to Queen Bluelianna. Like... to a fault._ And I can’t let that fault hurt Clowd.

My stomach hurts just thinking about all the ways things could go very, very wrong right now. And if Samn’s at fault for things going wrong… I don’t want to think about it. He wants to protect Faern and he wants Queen Bluelianna to know about every little thing that goes on at court.

But do those add up to ‘making Clowd go back to a dangerous place’? He did see Clowd kill a doe with his god-magic; is he gonna think that Clowd’s a danger to his half-sister? Then again, they’ve been inseparable since they were babies and Faern’s hardly lying on the floor dead, with corruption jutting out of her.

My head pulses with pain again and I wince, glancing up ahead to see how much further we have to go to make it back to the castle. Mercifully, the children didn’t get far from the base of Thundria’s castle’s trees and we’re nearly there.

Still enough time for me to worry over every single one of Samn’s steps.

…

“Clowd, Faern, would you go back to the nursery please?” Samn asks pleasantly once we’re all on the pavilion. “ _Sir Harte_ will bring in your catch, Clowd, don’t worry. We’ll make sure the court knows it was yours, but don’t tell Lady Faise until we can show her the deer.”

Clowd seems to have cooled off on the way back to the castle and nods, then takes Faern’s hand. “Sorry, Fairy, I was being mean. Let’s go tell Mom about our adventure! Except for the deer part.” He glances up at Samn who gives him an approving nod.

I relax a little as they walk away, getting the sense that Samn’s also relaxed on the way back to the castle and that we can just talk rationally about—

“Alright, dicks-for-eyes, time to come clean,” he growls, whipping around and advancing on me with a ferocious gleam in his eyes.

“W—what?” I stammer, stumbling back in surprise.

“You heard me,” Samn snaps. “What. In the name of the Starlaxi. _Was_. _That_.”  
“He can do god-magic,” I confess in a rush. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—he—I should’ve told you he—”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?!” he snaps. “ _Why?!_ I know—I know it’s important, but all the more reason—do you not trust me _at all?!_ ”

The last part explodes out of him like he’s been thinking about it for a while. I’m shocked out of words before I can pick up the pieces of my brain and put them together into a coherent thought. “Samn, of course I… I do, I just…”

“Don’t trust me with _important_ stuff,” he finishes, eyes flashing with anger and hurt. “Fiyr… I could’ve helped. I could’ve talked to him, or you, or— _damn_ it, Fiyr!”

Tears are coming. It’s far from the time. I just hope Samn doesn’t notice.

“Don’t cry,” he rasps, slapping his face with both hands and groaning. “This is a shit—this—this is a pile of—very, _very_ bad things!”

A giggle is going to escape unless I quash it. Which I do—narrowly—and whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, tell me how in the Blacklands we’re gonna fix this!” Samn shouts.

“I don’t know!” I cry. “Are you going to tell the queen?”

“I don’t know what else to do,” he groans. “We can’t hide this! _You_ couldn’t hide it from _me_ , and what do we do if the next person to see it is Darriek? Tigre? That would be the end of Clowd of Thundria!”

“I know!” I snap, some flicker of fight returning to me. “But we can’t tell the queen!”

Samn lets out another low, pained cry and paces in a circle, then turns on his heel and points a finger at me. “Tell me everything—everything _weird_ that Clowd’s done so far.”

I explain about Cindra and the corruption on her knee and how fast he’s been growing. Samn nods, then cocks his head.

“That’s it?” he demands. “Just the incident with Cindra?”

“Well… the thing about what happened to Cindra is…” I swallow. “Cindra was dying because of the corruption.”

Samn freezes. “What?”

“Her life-force was blocked. Life-force isn’t just a random word, Samn, life-force is what keeps us alive.” I shake my head, sighing. “If Clowd hadn’t been able to do god-magic, she would definitely be dead right now.”

The thought is sobering, to say the least. Even though I knew as much and she’s thriving now, just saying it out loud feels like I ate a brick and it’s weighing heavy in my stomach.

“She…” Samn is ashen. “Blessed Starlaxi.”

I nod.

I think the whole court would be giving up their lives in an instant to protect Cindra. If it got out that she almost _died_ , Yllowei would have to start beating the court back with her healer’s staff to prevent another flood of visitors.

“Clowd saved her life,” Samn says slowly.

“Exactly, which is why it’s so unfair that—”

“Then the queen will let him stay,” he says, sounding utterly convinced. “Are you kidding me? Queen Bluelianna would be doing blood sacrifices every full moon to keep Cindra alive if she thought that’s what it would take. If she knew Clowd was the one to save Cindra? She’d let the court be thrown into total chaos to protect Cindra’s saviour.”

I blink. “You think?”

Samn raises an eyebrow at me, apparently surprised that I don’t share his certainty. “Yes. Absolutely. We should tell her. There’s no telling if Clowd will do it again and—”

“No,” I interrupt. “The risk’s too big; on the off-chance that she doesn’t do what you’re predicting, it’s Clowd’s life on the line.”

Samn’s face darkens. “Fiyr, Clowd’s life is on the line whether we tell the queen or not. He’s done it twice now; by the time he’s a squire, who knows what you’re going to have to try to explain away? Lady Fuor’s not happy about him being near her precious children as it is.”

“He _saved_ one of her _precious_ children’s lives,” I mutter childishly.

“Exactly!” Samn snaps his fingers. “You just need to spread the news that Clowd saved Cindra’s life and he’ll be the most popular half-breed at court!”

“Don’t call him that.”

“What am I supposed to call him then?” Samn snorts.

“Clowd.”

Samn falls silent for a moment and gives me an appraising look. “You’re not going to tell the queen, are you?”  
I shake my head, grinding my teeth together. _I can’t. I can’t. I just have to hope that Clowd’s old enough to understand that he can’t do it out in the open. And that Faern gets the message, too._

It’s a risk. But everything’s a risk, and I’m not betting on the queen no matter _what_ Samn says. I think he sees it in my face because he scowls and turns on his heel.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. And get rid of this thing.” He kicks Clowd’s doe on the way past and back into the castle.

As soon as he’s gone, I let out a frustrated shout and kick the foliage. _What was I supposed to do? Throw myself at the queen’s feet and beg her not to kill my nephew?_ But there’s not much I can do. I glance at the doe and sigh, then grab it by the shoulders and drag it behind the castle so it’ll be at least partially hidden from view. _I’ll figure out what to do with that later. I need to—oh, blessed Starlaxi, I need to fix things with Samn before he does something stupid. I need to talk to Clowd, too._

I give the foliage a little apologetic nudge with my foot and hurry back to the castle.

…

“Do you understand?” I ask Clowd as we look at the horizon where a few wisps of clouds have collected. “I wish it was different, buddy, it’s just…”

“I get it,” Clowd mumbles, swinging his legs under the marble bench we’re seated on. I picked the one with the least cracks overgrown with moss, but his movement still shakes a few sprigs loose.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. I think I’ve said it a dozen times in this conversation, but I can’t suppress the guilt that I feel every time my yell from earlier today echoes in my ears. _Yes, Fiyr. Yell at the three-year-old. What a flawless plan that was._

“I know.” Clowd sighs. “Can I go back inside?”

“Yeah, of course.” I watch him go and can’t help a sigh of my own. _He’s way too young to have to deal with my and Prin’s mistakes. I wish this wasn’t how it had to be._

A little voice inside my head whispers that it didn’t have to be this way; that things could be different if I listened to Samn and was honest with the queen about Clowd’s abilities. _I’ve already decided I’m not doing that._

“Hang on, Clowd, before you go in,” I call, something occurring to me.

“What?” He turns, a hint of mutiny passing along his face as I stand and cross the pavilion toward him.

“Since Cindra, have you been able to remove corruption from things?” I ask. _Because if he can remove corruption from her knee, maybe he could remove it…_

“Yeah, I think so. Why?”

Hope flickering to life in my chest, I take a deep and ask, “Show me? Can you take it out of the doe you caught?”

He shrugs but allows himself to be steered over to the north side of the castle where I stashed the deer. I still haven’t decided what to do with it; it’s a bloody dagger when it comes to Clowd’s god-magic, but I don’t want to deprive him of the pride of his first catch.

Clowd glances down at the doe and then back up at me. “You didn’t take it to the kitchens?”

_Doesn’t he understand?_ “I can’t; they’d ask questions if they saw the corruption.”

At last, he makes the connection. “You want me to take it away so they don’t see what I do.”

“Yes. I’m really impressed that you caught a doe, and I want to share your accomplishment with the court, it’s just… just hard,” I explain.

“Okay. I’ll try.” His round blue eyes have a serious cast beyond his years and my heart aches for a second, remembering what it was to take on an identity you didn’t understand.

Clowd shuts his eyes and kneels next to the deer, then places his hands on its still flanks. I’m struck by how much he looks like a life-force user as he concentrates, but he’s still a child of the court; he shouldn’t be able to use life-force (never mind that it’s not _really_ life-force) until he’s a squire.

All the same, he makes it look like the most natural thing in the world and I can’t bring myself to shift into the Trace and come to grips with the foreignity of the act. With surprising ease, the spikes of corruption shrink and retract into the deer’s body until they’re out of sight, then a few moments later, I feel a certain tension leave the air. When I check the Trace, the trace of Clowd’s strange half-god, half-life-force magic hangs heavy around the deer, but the corruption is gone. I just hope that whoever’s on kitchen duty won’t question it too much.

The doe was actually secondary to my line of questioning, though. While I’m glad that Clowd will be recognized for the fact that he made his first kill at the age of three, the more important information is that Clowd might be able to get rid of the Creeping Corruption.

Whatever Samn says about Cindra, I know that _this_ could be the bolt that makes the lock on Clowd’s position at court stay locked. The Creeping Corruption has been… well, _creeping_ into Thundria’s territory for years; the gods are careless with their magic and it sucks life-force out of the neighbouring forest. It might have been going on for centuries, but things will change if Clowd’s ability can be applied to it.

Thundria’s never had a half-god; no matter how hard the elders and Darriek and _whoever_ argue that that’s the way that it should stay, he might be able to help in ways that we haven’t considered. It’s time to talk to the queen.

I bring the deer into the kitchen, Clowd strutting along next to me and glowing with pride, and breathe out when I see that Brindellia Faise is the one on kitchen duty. She seems five years younger now that Faern and Clowd are safely back at court and I wave to her over the body of the deer.

“Wow! Where’d that come from?” she greets me, eyeing it appreciatively.

“Ask him,” I advise, jerking my thumb toward Clowd, who is now glowing with pride. Lady Faise raises an eyebrow and looks down at her foster son, who grins.

“I just caught it while I was out,” he declares in a hilarious attempt at nonchalance, leaning against one of the counters like a miniature knight. I stifle a snort.

“While you were out? You were breaking the law, young man, I hope you recall,” she scolds, but even she can’t resist as her lips twitch up into a smile. “That’s… very impressive. But don’t do it again. At least not until you’re some poor knight’s problem.”

Clowd _pshaw_ s and waves one chubby little hand in a shooing motion. I swallow more giggles at the blatant imitation of behaviour he’s doubtlessly picked up from other knights at court.

Brindellia and I exchange a wry glance over his head, then the lady of the court suggests, “Why don’t you help me get it onto the counter so we can clean it? I’m sure your uncle’s very busy.”

_Busy securing him a place at court,_ I finish silently, but give her an airy smile and wave at Clowd on my way out of the kitchen. “See you later!”

I take a deep breath and head for Queen Bluelianna’s chambers, but I’m stopped halfway across the throne room by the queen herself.

“I was just looking for you, Your Majesty.” I bow, trying to squash the butterflies in my stomach and rallying my arguments.

“Likewise, Sir Harte,” she answers, dismissing my bow and waving in a _follow-me_ motion, then sets off toward her private chambers.

_What? Why was she looking for me? She already gave Clowd and Faern a stern talking-to about the laws surrounding ranks, so what could this be about? Unless she found out about him somehow. But I already have a trump card for why he needs to stay at court, and anyways, she couldn’t possibly know about him unless—_ Oh no. I desperately hope that it’s not what I’m thinking.

“About Clowd,” she begins, and my stomach drops into my boots, “Samn told me—is something wrong?”

_That bastard!_ “I—I’m sorry, no, please… continue?” I swallow back my rage and try to listen to the queen. _I’m going to throw him off a tree. A very tall tree._

“He told me that Clowd could perform god-magic.” She pauses meaningfully and I nod, trying to look suitably scared of her and not like I want to storm out of this room and shout at Samn until his ears retract into his head. “And also that he saved Cindra’s life.”

I nod again. “My queen, he—”

“Allow me to finish, Fiyr,” she interrupts gently, laying a hand on my shoulder. I’m unnerved by the realization that I’m now taller than her. It seems wrong. “Clowd must learn obedience and restraint. He is not to use his magic unsupervised; it could lead to dire consequences if he makes a mistake. I know what I said about his magic when he first came, but in light of the events surrounding Cindra’s recovery…”

The smallest bit of hope pipes up in a sea of anger directed at Samn. “Yes, my queen. Can—can he stay? I found out that… something else—I think he can stop the Creeping Corruption. Or at least slow it down.”

Her gray eyebrows arch. “Really?”

I nod vehemently. “He’s shown the capacity to _remove_ god-magic as well as form it. I think he can help.”

She blinks, then nods as well. “I see. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I am certain you would have spoken to me as well had Samn not gotten here first. Correct, Sir Harte?”

_You will not hide anything from me again._ I hear her loud and clear. “Yes, my queen.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Dismissed.”

I bow and walk as casually out of the queen’s chambers as I can manage before dropping the act and storming toward the squire’s wing. Beelining for Samn’s nook, I rip open the curtain with no warning.

“For fuck’s sake!” Samn shouts, springing out of his bed and yanking it closed again. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking, ass-hat?”

“Samn, what are you doing?!” I yell into the curtain, trying to push the image of Samn half-tangled in sheets out of my mind before my brain gets any ideas about keeping it around. “You went to the queen behind my back!”

“Let’s talk about this another time!” Samn shouts back. We _could_ be speaking at a reasonable volume and be able to hear each other fine, but I’m too mad for that to be possible and Samn’s not going to be the one backing down.

“I think we’re going to talk about it now!” I snap. _He can’t just almost ruin Clowd’s life and then go for a midday nap!_ “Come out of there!”

“I can’t!” Samn shouts back, sounding a little panicked.

“Why?” The yelling is getting silly. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to quiet down first.

“I—I’m _sick!_ ”

“ _What?!_ ” Of all the terrible, nonsense excuses he could be pulling to avoid this conversation, he’s going with ‘I’m sick’?! “You expect me to believe that you contracted some kind of illness between us going out to find Faern and Clowd this morning and now?! Bullshit! Come out of there, now!”

“No, I’ve been sick for—I mean—go away!” Samn shouts.

“Not until you explain why in the name of the Starlaxi you thought it was okay to go talk to the queen against my explicit wishes!” I bellow.

There’s no answer from Samn, just rattling and the _swish-swish_ of sheets against each other.

“Come out _now_ or I’m pulling the curtain open again!” I threaten.

“Don’t!” Samn yelps.

“Three, two...” I begin, drawing out the countdown.

“I’m naked in here!” he finally snaps.

“You’re _what?!_ ” My voice hits a high note I didn’t know it could reach. “You weren’t naked before!”

“I took off my clothes!”

“ _Why?!_ This is not the time to get naked!”

“Go away!” Samn shouts.

“We need to talk!” I insist, my hands tugging at my hair in an ineffectual attempt to drive the flush out of my cheeks.

“Some. Other. Time!” he yells.

“Fine!” I finally give in, knowing he’s not going to come out and that I need to give up for now. But he’s crazy if he thinks he’ll get out of this conversation with some half-baked excuse about being sick and taking his clothes off while I yell at him.

I storm out of his nook and nearly run down Brakken, who’s standing in the doorway and staring at me.

“Wha…” he begins. I shake my head. He nods slowly. “Okay. See you.”

“See you,” I grind out and dash up to my room in the knight’s wing to escape everything. I take back what I said earlier; now sounds like a great time for a midday nap. I didn’t even realize how tightly-strung I was until I kick off my boots, flop onto my bed, and drop my head onto the pillow. _I am not dealing with the world right now._

I stretch and roll over, staring up at the ceiling and contemplate getting out of bed and getting into proper sleepclothes, then just slowly drift off instead.

…

_“Come on, Fiyr, I wanna see if I can catch it,” Clowd announces, slowly advancing on the boar that stares at us with beady eyes, its tusks moving slightly in tandem with its breaths._

_“Be careful, Clowd,” I tell my half-god nephew. But he hardly needs the warning; he’s taller than I am, nearly twice as wide and built of iron muscle and a silver smile. “Just be careful, please.”_

_He’s ignoring me, but I have to teach him obedience! If I can’t teach him to listen to his superiors, the queen won’t let him stay at court! He’s going to get sent back to the gods!_

_“Relax, Fiyr.”_

_It’s a voice, the sound of which I’d almost forgotten. The voice that I’ve never heard outside my dreams._

_I turn around and the old captain of Thundria’s guard is standing in front of me. He gives me a smile and a little nod._

_“Sir Tayle,” I mumble._

_“You’ve grown,” he remarks, still smiling. “I’m glad to see you again, but… I’m afraid it’s not good news. I’ve brought you a warning from the Starlaxi.”_

_“You—you have?”_ It’s not about Clowd, is it? _I fret._

_“There are gathering storm clouds on the horizon, Fiyr,” he whispers. “Beware the knight you cannot trust.”_

_Cannot. Trust. The words seem to echo around me and Sir Tayle begins to fade. “Wait! Sir Tayle, I—”_

_He’s gone._

_“Fiyr.”_

_I turn around again and my heart stops in my chest. Clowd is bent over the boar and gazes up at me with black eyes, pools of void, his too-perfect face splattered with the blood of the animal._

_Spikes of corruption stick out of the boar and, to my horror, as Clowd turns further toward me I see that they’re also jutting out of his chest._

_“Fee, I caught it,” he growls, a guttural sound emerging from him before black blood bubbles out of where the corruption is embedded in his chest. He coughs, the not-blood dribbling down his chin, then lets out a cry that rises in pitch until it’s a bone-chilling scream—_

Thud.

…

I snap awake in a cold sweat. My room is dark; the castle’s torches are out for the night. Looks like my midday nap turned into an evening nap. My stomach growls.

_Thud._

_There it is again!_ I sit up in bed and swing my legs over the edge. The stone is cold under the soles of my feet but I pay it no mind. I listen patiently, poised on the edge of my bed, until another thud sounds from my left.

_Oh._ A strange emptiness yawns inside me as I realize. _It’s Graie. Back from meeting Silaverre, no doubt._ My shoulders slacken and I sit, staring at my feet as my eyes slowly adjust to the gloom. One of my socks must have come off in bed. I don’t feel like flailing around searching for it.

_Thud._

Suddenly, Sir Tayle’s words come back to me in a rush. _Beware the knight you cannot trust._ I hear Graie’s muffled swearing, then silence. _He couldn’t mean… no…_

I push myself off the bed and leave my room, creeping silently down the hallway to the staircase and descending into the throne room. Blinking in the darkness, I make my way across the room, pressing my lips together as each cold stone slab makes contact with my bare foot.

Once I make it to the heavy doors, I pause. _I should go to bed._ But I’m wide awake and I know that after that nap, I’m not going to be getting back to sleep for a while. I grab the handle of the door and pull it open.

A cool breeze gusts past me into the throne room and I step out slowly. The stars glitter overhead and the pale moon hangs behind bits of cloud. The pavilion below is faintly lit, but it’s visible enough that it gives me pause when I see the faintest line of a silhouette on one of the benches.

“Hello?” I call softly, my voice sounding almost insubstantial in the night air.

The silhouette moves and even though I can’t see the figure well, I have a sneaking suspicion I know who it is. _No, that’s ridiculous. Why would he be here? Now?_

“Fiyr?”

I sigh. _I guess we’re having the conversation now._ “Samn.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“No. You either?”

“Nope.  
I sigh and then cross the pavilion toward him. Samn pats the bench next to him and I sit, feeling tense _and_ melancholy at the same time, somehow.

“The sickness keeping you up?” I ask, a hint of scorn in my voice.

To my utter shock, Samn lays his head on my shoulder and leans against me, sighing. “Don’t be like that. I know I was acting weird earlier… sorry. Just—had to deal with something.”

His hair tickles my neck and I sit very, very still and try to concentrate on what he’s saying. “That’s okay.”

“Why are you awake? ‘Cause it’s a full moon?” he laughs with an edge of delirium.

“Uh, what’s with you?” I ask, my teeth tightening as he laughs again, a sound that hits my soul.

“On poppy seeds,” he informs me. “For pain.”

“What pain?” I cast a nervous look over him, half-expecting to see blood trickling down his forearm that lies dangerously close to my thigh.

“Hmm-hmm, can’t tell you,” he sing-songs.

I let out an incredulous laugh. “Alright. But—but I’m still mad about you talking to Queen Bluelianna behind my back.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, burying his face in the space between my neck and shoulder. I turn to stone as his nose brushes across my neck and warm breath touches the space left behind. “Don’t be mad. I just wanted to help Clowd.”

“I—I—know, but you—” I stammer. “You should’ve asked.”

“I did ask.” Samn giggles.

“And I said no!” I protest. “Please respect what I say next time.”

Samn pulls away and wags his finger at me. “And you didn’t tell me about Clowd’s magic. Bad, bad, very bad.”

I press back a laugh and shake my head. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ll be better.”

He softens and leans against me again. I can feel his ribs as he breathes in and out slowly and for a moment the frustration leaves my body and I just listen to him breathe.

“I don’t like fighting with you,” Samn confesses in a half-coherent mumble. I’m almost certain it’s the poppy seeds talking by now.

“Me neither,” I agree softly. He turns his face up towards mine and blinks, guileless green eyes pulling me in, then he cradles my face in his hands and presses his lips to mine. Melting, I embrace him and squeeze closer to him on the bench.

For a few minutes, I don’t think about Graie, or Sir Tayle, or Clowd, or the queen, or Sir Cawle. Tomorrow, everything will change, but in this moment…

We are here, together.


	20. Chapter 19 - Graie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all! almost at the end of book 2 here. I just published a one-shot about Oeak and Bluelia meeting so ya know, check it out. If you wanna request a one-shot, hop over to warriors-kingdom on Tumblr and send in an ask!

Chapter 19 - Graie

_I’m a bad person._

It’s not the first time I’ve thought about it, but the steady stream of hatred that’s been marching in a circle around my head while I watch Samn and Fiyr share their little jokes and private laughs is making me more sure than ever that I really am a bad, _bad_ person.

Still, knowing that I’m not a paragon of virtue for wishing they’d both fall off a cliff is no consolation to walking behind them in stony silence. Sir Strommer’s taken the lead and Mauzian Fyrra and I are bringing up the rear.

“It’s almost Berrystar’s Morn,” Lady Fyrra comments.

I _mm-hm_ , hardly listening as my eyes bore holes into the back of Fiyr’s head. You’d think years of separation would lessen the strain between us, but some days I still wake up and forget and I get halfway to his room before the memories of sharp words and balled fists encourage me to turn my feet away.

Plain and simple, I miss my best friend. Maybe it would have been easier if Ravne were still around, or if I could see Silaverre at court everyday and my days didn’t feel so… empty. They’re hardly slovenly, but weeks slip past me with nothing to mark them as different from any of the others.

I shake off the thoughts and focus on the world around me. I’ve never been one for appreciating nature, though, and it’s not long before my thoughts slide back into all the ways I could throw Fiyr off of a tree. _Stop it,_ I order myself. _Think about anything else—anyone else._

I can’t say I’m entirely surprised when my brain takes that to mean ‘ _Think about Sila’._ Far be it from me to complain, though. Unlike the uncomfortable, twisting feeling that accompanies thoughts of Fiyr and dwelling on the fact that he and Samn have suddenly gotten very, very close, thinking of Sila warms my chest. And despite the snow having entirely melted into a muddy, rainy spring, I’ve needed warmth lately.

_Sounds like Garais, Sila snorted._

_Oh yeah? I feign nonchalance but lean forward all the same, intrigued._

_What, are you jealous? She gives me that half-grin and I’m floored again._

_N—no. Don’t need to be. People are jealous of_ me _, that’s how it works._ _I pretend to flex. She pretends to swoon._

Pretending, pretending, pretending. My eyes are fixed on a point above the horizon but the world around me is blurring as Quicksilver continues forward. Someday we’ll stop pretending. We’ll be together in front of the world and no one will say a word against us. It’s getting there that’s the problem.

“Do you feel that?” Sir Strommer suddenly stops the patrol. Lady Fyrra, who was half-falling asleep in her saddle, snaps to attention and Samn breaks off mid-snicker to pay attention. “It… I thought… maybe nothing, forget it.”

“Blessed Starlaxi, is that Shodawes trace?” Fiyr breaks in.

“I feel it too,” Lady Fyrra agrees uneasily, her gaze flitting from right to left. “It’s hard to tell…”

I know what she means; we’re right by the Cockatrice Ruins so it’s hard to sense the trace of much of anything under the sour trace of the cockatrices, but I definitely detect a hint of pine and evil.

“Blessed Starlaxi, what is that?” Lady Fyrra asks aloud in a whisper, staring off at where the woods meet the fields. For a moment I’m not sure what she’s looking at, then I spot the dark, still shape. It almost looks like a giant boulder, but as Sir Strommer tentatively moves us closer, I check the Trace and realize that it’s a giant, dead boar. And it reeks of Shodawa.

“We need to tell the queen!” Samn exclaims. That’s his solution to everything; the contribution is no surprise.

“Agreed,” Sir Strommer answers, sharing a glance with Mauzian, then back at the boar with a sickened expression. “Come on, straight back to the castle. If they’re in our territory right now, we need to attack without delay. Grab the boar, we’ll need it.”

Lady Fyrra grabs it and hauls it back to her horse, tying it over its back with some difficulty.

What was a ride through the forest on a routine patrol a second ago is now making adrenaline course through my veins in anticipation of a battle. _Shodawa, attacking? But we put King Naitienne on the throne!_ I see my outrage reflected in the carefully contained expressions of the rest of the patrol. _They would attack us out of nowhere?! Or at the very least, trespass!_

Sir Strommer’s horse whinnies as he gives it a sharp spur forward and the five of us take off back into the forest, never getting close enough to the Cockatrice Ruins to even hear a croak from the beasts. As we whip through the trees, my arm catches on a branch and my sleeve tears. A thin line of fire traces up my arm; it’s bleeding.

Somehow, my mind occupied with Shodawa and Sila and Samn and Fiyr and my bloody arm, part of me manages to miss Ravne all the same. Two in each hand. _No one wants Ravne’s cockatrice in their mouth!_ Play-fights with Fiyr and him. Tackling him to the ground and both of us popping up with dirt-streaked cheeks and laughter ringing in the air. My chest aches and the wind beats a tear out of my eye as we continue the mad dash through Thundrian’s woods.

Then Ravne’s washed away in the heat of the impending battle as well, and we gallop back to the castle.

…

“I need to see the _queen_ , Sir Cawle,” Sir Strommer insists.

The captain of the guard is unmoved.

“She’s out. Tell me what happened.”

The rest of the patrol and I are silent, watching the two powerhouses of the Thundrian court stare each other down, wondering who’s going to give in first.

“Fine.” Sir Strommer sighs, looking weary. An uncomfortable current runs through my stomach at the victory of Sir Cawle. “We’ve found Shodawes trace by the Cockatrice Ruins. A dead boar, looking like it was killed by a Shodawes knight. Or… patrol.”

Sir Cawle’s dark eyes light on fire. “ _What?_ ”

The other knight nods gravely.

“We must attack at once.” The decision’s made in an instant. Even though I was certain it was coming, I’m still taken aback by how fast he’s picked the course of action. “I’ll assemble a battle patrol. I want both of you.”

_Both of who?_ But he’s already jerking his thumb at Mauzian and Whit. A shameful wash of relief comes through my chest. _Not me._

“The court must be informed,” he adds, almost like an afterthought. “I’ll call a meeting. Wait right here; I expect you to tell them all what’s happened.”

Alarm passes over Whit Strommer’s face, but the knight nods all the same. “As you say.”

Sir Cawle gives us a sharp nod and strides away, heading for the queen’s chambers. Lady Fyrra drops the boar that she lugged through the doors on her back. I glance at Fiyr, waiting for him to say something- but he’s already murmuring to Samn. Of course. I don’t know why I’m surprised anymore.

I turn away, throat tightening. _Whatever. I’m not on the battle patrol. I just have to wait while Sir Strommer tells the court what happened, and then wait while the patrol goes out to fight, and wait, and wait, and wait, until we know what’s going to come of this._

It’s not long before Sir Cawle’s amplified growl rings through the castle. “Knights of Thundria, report to the throne room at once.”

_Knights of Thundria._ So he’s not taking squires. That rules out Samn, Duss, and Sewif as well as Fiyr and I after he ignored us in the throne room minutes ago. _Then who’s going on the battle patrol? Darriek Styrp, Liang Teyl, Sir Strommer and Lady Fyrra, Sir Wynnd, and Lady Peilte? That’s about the size of a battle patrol, but then… there’d be no knights in the castle save for Fiyr and I._

Unnerve mixes into my veins and I hover on the edge of pointing this out to someone, but Sir Cawle’s emerging from the queen’s chambers and most of the court’s already assembled. Too late.

“Knights of Thundria!” Sir Cawle shouts, his deep voice resonating deep into the stone walls. The air seems to quiver slightly as he stalks back and forth on the dais, evidently relishing his position as the leader of a righteous attack. “We’ve uncovered evidence of Shodawes trespassers!”

Air is sucked out of the room as the entire collected court draws a simultaneous gasp. Sir Cawle continues, playing up the drama to the crowd.

“Bring forth the boar!” he orders.

‘ _Bring forth’? Seriously?_ I watch silently as Lady Fyrra struggles forward, hauling the slain beast. The court’s attention is pinned to the wiry woman though, regardless of Sir Cawle’s theatrics.

“We found Shodawes trace on and around it,” Sir Strommer volunteers helpfully, only quickening the spread of the realization that a few members of the court have already come to by checking the Trace. “Near the Cockatrice Ruins.”

“This will not go unpunished!” Sir Cawle shouts, eyes ablaze. He’s enjoying this, I can tell, no matter how hard the set of his jaw is and however tightly his fingers have wrapped around the hilt of his sword. The unnerved feeling worsens. “We will attack at once!”

The court cheers, whipped up into a frenzy by Sir Cawle’s theatrics.

“Lady Fyrra, Sir Strommer, Sir Wynnd, Lady Peilte, Sir Styrp, Sir Teyl, and I will ride out to the Cockatrice Ruins and out to the Shodawes border! They will not go unpunished!” he repeats, and the court raises a raucous cry of agreement in response, made of the voices of the knights he’s named. Lady Fuor and Lady Faise uneasy glances.

I wait as Sir Cawle shouts for the patrol to prepare themselves for battle and meet him at the base of Thundria’s castle’s supporting trees and then watch as the members of the battle patrol file out the doors, grabbing swords and over-armour as they go. I still can’t shake the feeling of dismay, even though it’s the right answer. No matter how much Sir Cawle is deriving illicit enjoyment from stirring up the court into a frenzy, Shodawa is still the one breaking the law. They _should_ be attacked.

So why do I still have this bad feeling?

Something trickles down my arm. I glance down and see that the place where the branch slashed me as I rode by is still bleeding; it’s a bit of a deeper cut than I thought. _Damn it._ Looks like a visit to Yllowei is in my near future. When I look back up at the throne room, it’s empty save for Sewif sulking on the steps of the dais.

_Might as well get it done before I bleed on the stone,_ I decide, leaving Fiyr and Samn’s side without a backward glance. They’re occupied in quiet conversation anyway. I wish I could dispel the prickle of irritation I feel when I hear Fiyr laugh.

I nearly knock down Cindra as I enter the healer’s wing and reach out to catch her before she falls back. She yelps and grabs my arms, yanking herself back on balance and jerking me forward. Our heads knock together.

“Ow!” I exclaim.

She stumbles back but catches herself miraculously and laughs, her hand flying to cradle her head. “My hero.”

“Anytime,” I snort and she scoots past me.

“Yllowei’s in a great mood today,” she whispers and then hurries into the throne room, leaving me to deal with the healer’s ‘great mood’.

Lady Fennen’s upon me in a heartbeat, her yellow hawk eyes catching the light of the torches. “What’s all the commotion about?”

“You didn’t hear?” I’m surprised, but I shake it off as she scowls, clearly communicating the answer. “We found a dead boar; Shodawes trace. The captain’s leading a battle patrol and heading to the border.”

I half-expect her to snort dismissively but her gray, bushy eyebrows rise instead. “Shodawa? After we deposed their tyrant king all those years ago?”

I nod.

“Ungrateful _imbéciles_ ,” she spits. “You’re certain of the trace?”

“I felt it myself. Why?”

Yllowei’s eyes dart up like she’s considering something, then the line of her mouth tightens and she shakes her head. “I find it hard to believe Shodawa’s attacking _us_. But be that as it may. What are you doing here?”

The unfriendly demand unexpectedly sends a memory of Spottalia flitting through my head. I haven’t thought about her in a long time. _I’m older than she was when she died._ I shiver. _She seemed worlds away from us… but I outlived her._ Any of us could be next when this new clash with Shodawa is on the horizon.

“I—uh, I cut myself on a tree.” I hold up my forearm for inspection.

The healer grunts and shuffles away to find salves and bandages. I try not to think about Spottalia, but this newfound realization has shaken me. _I could be dead this time next year, or I could live to be a hundred until I can’t see or smell and I just lie in my bed all day._

My reflection on my own mortality has to wait, though, because Yllowei has returned with a small jar and a handful of bandages. She hands me both.

“Well, what am I supposed to do with them?” I ask.

“Guess,” she answers drily.

“Rub it in and put them on?”

“How will Thundria survive without your unfailingly brilliance to lead them through the darkness?” she snarks.

_When I’m a hundred years old and toothless, I won’t be a sarcastic little shit to all the young knights,_ I decide, popping the lid off the salve after a moment of fiddling with the clasp and dipping two fingers into the smooth, cool cream.

“Did you bring the boar back to the castle?” she breaks the silence by asking.

I blink. “Huh? Oh. Yeah, yeah, we did. Why?”

Her tightly-wound jaw twitches like it’s ready to spring. “Show it to me.”

Still carefully massaging the salve into my cut, I leave the healer’s wing and motion to the dead animal on the floor of the throne room.

Yllowei’s shoulders stiffen, but she hobbles toward it, then freezes and spits something that’s probably bad to repeat in front of children in Old Shodawes.

“What’s wrong?” I check the Trace, but it’s still the same faded trace of Shodawa.

“That’s not the trace of the court of Shodawa, you idiots!” Yllowei snaps, whirling around with her eyes ablaze. “That’s the trace of Braukkin and his outlaws! You’ve forgotten the trace of his evil and Sir Cawle is about to attack an innocent court!”

_Well, shit._

“What?! Braukkin’s back?!” I exclaim.

“Keep your damned voice down!” she hisses back. “Yes! Now find someone to call off Sir Cawle and his dogs!”

There’s no time to object to her calling all the knights of the court ‘dogs’ or argue that if there was ever a time to shout, now would be it; Braukkin and his outlaws could be on Thundrian soil at this very second and Shodawa is going to fight back righteously when we accidentally attack them without cause.

I start running for the squire’s nooks; Brakken can stop Sir Cawle. We need to keep knights at the castle in case Braukkin is still on the territory. _The knights…_ But it’s just me and Fiyr. _Then I just have to pray that he doesn’t attack the castle and that Sir Cawle and his ‘dogs’ get back in time._

“Brakken!”

My squire pops his head out of his nook, alarmed by my tone. “What? What’s happening? Are Sir Cawle and the knights back?”

“No—Brakken, the boar—the trace wasn’t Shodawes, it was Braukkin’s! The tyrant king’s!” I can’t get the words out fast enough. My squire cocks his head, eyes widening.

“So Shodawa…”

“Is innocent! Sir Cawle is going to attack an innocent court. You need to ride _right now_ and tell them not to attack! Go!” I shout as he stumbles out of his nook, uniform rumpled and starts running for the doors of the castle. “Every second counts! Go as fast as you can, they’re at the border.”

My squire vanishes out the door but none of my panic is fading. There’s still a chance that Braukkin is hanging around the territory. Terrible visions of Brakken being caught by the outlaws dance through my head, them pulling him down from his horse, an arrow catching him in the side as he rushes through the forest, of being caught in the battle between Shodawa, attacked unfairly, and Thundria, believing themselves righteous and Brakken going down in a flurry of life-force and flashing steel—

I press my palms to my temples and take a deep breath.

_Should I tell the rest of the court?_ But what will that do besides cause mass panic? Ladies and elders can’t stop a tyrant and his mercenaries. _We can hide the children, though. Fiyr, Samn, and Duss can get ready to fight if need be._

My mind made up, I glance back at where Samn and Fiyr were. They’ve disappeared. I didn’t notice Samn or Duss in the squire’s nooks, so I head up the stairs toward the knights’ quarters.

I rap on Fiyr’s door.

“Coming!”

I cock an eyebrow; he sounds half-panicked and ragged. _Did he notice Braukkin’s trace? Impossible._

When the door finally pulls open, Fiyr only opens it a few centimetres.

“What?” he demands.

_What’s going on?_

“I need to talk to you,” I snap, put off by his strange behaviour.

“Can it wait?”

“No!”

“I—give me a minute,” he mumbles and the door shuts again.

“Where’d Samn go after the battle patrol left?” I ask through the door.

“Um—I—I dunno,” he calls back in the most unconvincing voice I’ve ever heard.

If I wasn’t so preoccupied with our potential impending doom, I might have been able to put together what was going on. But as it stands, my priority is making sure the court is ready for a potential attack.

Finally, Fiyr bursts through the door and slams it behind him just as fast. I blink.

“What the f—”

“Let’s talk somewhere else,” he snaps and grabs my forearm in a mockery of how a lady would lay her hand over a knight’s arm.

“Ow! Watch the bandages!” I retort, snatching my arm back. Fiyr is already halfway down the stairs. “What in the name of the Starlaxi has gotten into you?”

“What is so damn urgent that you need to talk to me about it right this second?” Fiyr spits instead of answering my question.

“Braukkin was the one who killed the boar. Shodawa’s innocent.”

He sucks in a breath. “What?”

“Braukkin was the one who killed the boar. Shodawa’s—”

“You’re saying Braukkin and his mercs could be on the territory now?! What do we do?!” Fiyr exclaims, beginning to pace. “Don’t answer that. We need to tell everyone what’s going on, get the vulnerable people to safety, and—where are Duss and Sewif? They can fight.”

“That’s why I was asking about Samn. Where is he?” I snap back.

“Somewhere!” Fiyr throws his hands up. “I’ll find him and the other squires. You get the kids somewhere safe and take the elders, too.”

Sometime I’ll look back on this and be annoyed that he was ordering me around, but right now, there are more pressing issues. With a terse nod to him, I head for the elders’ quarters first and knock on the door, trying to breathe a bit more slowly.

“Yes?” Dapplianne Tayel calls out from inside.

“May I enter?” I ask, still taking deep breaths.

“Yes, yes, come in,” Wonne Eie croaks.

I push the door open and hover in the doorway, looking into each of their faces. “There… there’s reason to believe a battle is coming.”

“Yes. The storm on the horizon,” Lady Eie agrees. “I foresaw.”

_Future-seeing life-force._ Wouldn’t have helped anyway; it could just as easily have been Shodawa’s supposed trespassing. “You’re right; it’s coming now, and we need to get you all to safety!”

Sir Tyle and Sir Eyre exchange looks and then both push themselves out of their chairs. Lady Eie and Tayel stand as well, all seeming unshaken and agreeable.

_I don’t mind losing all my teeth if I become this unruffled by everything,_ I think, marvelling at how collected they all are. _I guess having Lady Eie around helps._

“Follow me,” I direct and lead them out of the elders’ quarters and back into the throne room. Sewif and Samn are standing ready by the doors. Fiyr and Duss are missing.

Scanning the room, my eyes land on the door behind the throne. _It’s secluded enough and there’s room. They’ll be safe._

“Into the queen’s chambers,” I decide.

“That’s intruding,” Sir Tyle argues.

“I’m sure the queen won’t mind,” I reply, temper rising. _Just cooperate._

To my relief, he merely shrugs and follows the other three into the small room. _Now for the children._

The moment Sir Tyle’s through the doorway, I turn and walk briskly toward the nursery. _Don’t panic anyone unnecessarily._ In response to the tension in the air, my chest is tight and thrumming with energy ready to spring when the attack comes, but I can’t transfer that to the kids. I have to keep them calm. I don’t know if Faern will be able to tell, but Thorrin and Briatte would notice if I’m freaking out.

“Lady Faise? Lady Fuor?” I call as calmly as possible.

“Sir Sterrip,” the latter greets me at the doorway. “What can I do for you?”

“We—uh—” _How am I supposed to tell them that they need to get to safety without implying that there’s danger they need to hide from?_ “There’s…”

Lady Fuor cocks her head. “What’s wrong?”

_Damn it_. “Uh… there’s… a possibility the castle’s going to be attacked,” I confess. Rather than scream like I feared, Frostialla’s blue eyes narrow to slits, still pinned to me like two chips of ice. “And we need to get the kids to safety. And the ladies.”

“How many knights are left in the castle?” she demands.

“Just Fiyr and I,” I admit.

Her eyes narrow further. “I see. Tell Brindellia what’s happening and get the three children to safety. I’ll deal with Goldanna and Tiall. _Lady_ Tiall.”

I blink, unsure about trusting her ability to ‘deal’ with the other two queens, but when every second that ticks by is another second that might be bringing us closer to a battle, I don’t have much of a choice.

“Right.”

I move past her into the nursery and crouch next to where Briatte and Thorrin are helping Faern construct a tower out of coloured wooden blocks. “Hey guys, we need to go… uh, leave the nursery. You’re going to go into the queen’s chambers for a bit.”

“Okay,” Thorrin shrugs, unfazed.

Briatte looks me in the eye and somehow, I get the feeling she knows that something’s going on. All the same, she stands and takes Faern’s hand.

“C’mon, Fairy, we’re going on an adventure,” she tells the younger girl brightly. “Follow Thorrin!”

I glance up. Frostialla gives me a sharp nod and waves Lady Flourer and Lady Tiall through the doorway, then follows them out, leaving me alone in the nursery. I swallow and then head after the white-haired lady of the court.

As Thorrin, Briatte, and Faern make it through the door into the queen’s chambers, I spot Samn and Fiyr standing by Sewif and Duss. The ladies of the court are still stuck outside the chambers when Fiyr shouts,

“He’s coming! And it sounds like he brought friends! Prepare for battle!”

There’s no time to try to rush the ladies into the private chambers; they’re hardly moving to try to get themselves in, anyway. Not ten seconds after Fiyr’s shout, the door explodes in a shower of wood splinters and the shadow of an enormous man blocks the doorway.

The energy trapped in my chest springs out and sings on my skin, life-force crackling all around me. Adrenaline floods my veins and I draw _Graystripe._

Two knights, three squires, and four ladies. It sounds like a nursery rhyme.

_Now we fight and we pray we’re enough to keep Thundria alive until Sir Cawle gets back._

Our odds don’t look good. Braukkin takes a step into the room, a rusty laugh rising from him as he surveys us. Not springing into battle, not pouncing on us. Just watching and chuckling. Like a cat that knows he’s trapped a mouse. Nowhere to run.

I hold up _Graystripe_ and pray.

The tyrant king takes another step.

“ _You!_ ” The scream rings out from Fiyr. He and Samn were standing shoulder to shoulder like soldiers, but now he’s broken the line and fire is dancing up his body, encircling his limbs in threatening flashes of orange and red.

Eyes flitting across the figures behind Braukkin, it’s a moment before I spot him. _Sir Clehw Fiace. Killer of Spottalia Lief and loyalist of the tyrant king._

Fiyr’s eyes speak of blood.

Sir Fiace’s only answer is a smile that twists the vicious scarred skin that covers half his face. Burn scars. _He survived, somehow._ Though if Fiyr gets his way, I know that good luck won’t last. Clehw draws his sword and leaps at Fiyr, stoat life-force flaring out from him as his limbs sharpen and inhuman grace is granted to him by traiting. Fiyr screams bloody murder and shoots forward to meet him, the inferno armouring him glowing brighter like windblown embers.

The tension snaps like a branch in flames and the outlaws are upon us in seconds. I summon all the life-force and physical strength at my disposal and jump into the fight.


	21. Chapter 20 - Graie

Chapter 20 - Graie

Given the choice of how to spend a late winter afternoon, I would have taken snuggling with Sila under furs in front of a roaring fire at a pub in Sun Stones.

Unfortunately, the Starlaxi seems to think a better use of my time would be ducking around shards of metal hurling toward me after being shot by a woman with a shaved head and a mouthful of silver teeth, bared in what could be a grin or a snarl, depending on a person’s perspective.

I’m feeling less than grateful as one jagged shard whistles by my face, tracing a stinging cut into my cheek. I curse and duck again, sweeping with _Graystripe_. When the woman hisses like a cat and tries to plant her dagger in my skull, I grab her wrist with my free hand and using my sword, flick a chimney-ful of ash into her eyes. My ring flashes in the torchlight as she reels back, the dagger slipping out of her grasp.

Just as I’m bracing to jump at her again, two figures wrestling on the ground skid between us in a blur of fists and knees to the groin. I’m momentarily stunned, just watching as a man with a mangy black mane delivers an aforementioned knee to Samn’s groin, who hardly winces and reaches for the dagger that my assailant dropped. The man he’s fighting yells something that doesn’t make it far out of his mouth before Samn’s life-force-controlled sand drives the words and possibly a few of his teeth back down his throat. He wheezes and splutters and thrashes, but Samn gets ahold of the dagger and I snap back to reality.

The bald woman has vanished, so I scan the room for a new target. A lanky man whose limbs swing about like flashing shadows is using balls of water to push Sewif back as the squire bravely tries to get a hit in on his unprotected sides. _Water…_ Something rings in my brain and I notice that the water elementalist’s clothes are soaked. _Aha._

Taking a half-second to make sure I’m not in immediate danger of being beheaded, I press a finger to my life-force ring in concentration and send a wave of ash at the water elementalist. The gray cloud swarms him and, at my silent command, rushes in to envelope him in a gray shell. I don’t wait around to see if the reaction between the water and ash works, because footsteps at my back make me whirl around, sword up, in time to catch the wide swing of young man with ginger hair. He’s got a sword that almost looks like true-steel, but I know better: Only kingdoms have true-steel and this boy is evidently an outlaw.

When I block his strike, he snarls at me and swings again. I block again, this time not waiting around for him to pull his sword back for another swing. Instead, I shift my weight to raise my left foot and plant my boot in his chest. Then push back, hard.

He wheezes and reels away. I send a condensed ball of ash into his chest and he makes a choked gasp that gives me the impression he’d been trying to breathe before I drove the air out of his lungs. I’m spared from further contemplating his respiratory difficulties when a blow to my back makes me drop to my knees. Not taking even a moment to process the impact, I plant my hands on the stone and scramble out of the way before whoever slammed into my spine gets a chance to do more damage.

It turns out my attacker is a giant lizard. I yelp in confusion and fear and scramble further, then shove myself to my feet and take stock of the situation. _An oversized-lizard summoner. Fantastic._ The fat reptile’s tongue flickers out and its scaly legs bunch like it’s going to leap at me again, but then it begins to shrink… and disappear. _Not a very strong summoner, then._ I glance up at the man.

The summoner of oversized-lizards is oversized as well, a fact that is brought to my attention when he rushes me, beefy arms lunging in rock-sized fists towards my face. I duck again, swinging _Graystripe_ into the side of his kneecap and scuttling backward like a crab when he roars in pain. His legs buckle, but he stumbles and rights himself, then something crashes into his back in a blur of pale gold and the oversized-lizard summoner faceplants.

A lioness has perched herself on his back and bares her teeth, pulling back black lips to show glittering white fangs inside.

A few curses stumble out of my mouth before I catch myself and realize what’s going on. _The lioness attacked him? Lion summoning… no._ I glance up, dazed, and see Lady Brindellia Faise standing on the edge of the dais in front of the throne, arms spread as if to embrace whoever might come to challenge her. Life-force is rolling off her in such heavy waves that I can feel it without needing to shift into the fifth dimension.

The lioness lets out a rumbly snarl and then leaps off the man’s body to crash into a different knight, one Samn was locked in combat with. He goes down in a startled yelp that turns into a wail when he sees that his assailant is about three hundred pounds of fur and fury.

I get to my feet and spare the lizard summoner a glance. He’s down, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to be getting back up soon, so I survey the throne room for a new target, both hands on the pommel of _Graystripe_ in case I get caught off guard.

A flash on my right draws my gaze toward the doors of the castle where Fiyr and Sir Fiace are dealing each other glancing blows, neither getting close enough for a proper fight. The stoat summoner has sprouted long teeth and his eyes have shrunk to hateful beads, marking his traiting, but Fiyr only delivers a couple weak sparks here and there.

It wouldn’t matter much if they were evenly matched in steel, but the ex-Shodawes is evidently more skilled and Fiyr’s blows are getting clumsier. _Why isn’t he using his damn life-force?_ But it doesn’t matter, because Sir Fiace gets in a cut on Fiyr’s side, who shouts in pain. Whatever reason Fiyr has for not unleashing a storm of fire, it’s going to get him killed if he isn’t careful. And Fiyr in battle is anything but careful. I don’t even bother looking to see if anyone’s going to help him, I just take off running across the throne room and summon handfuls of ash to throw in the Shodawes’s face.

Clehw nicks Fiyr’s arm and hisses a laugh as Fiyr retaliates with an uncoordinated strike that bounces off the other knight’s side. I barrel into the stoat summoner’s side, not bothering to try to engage him and opt for _knock him on his ass_ as my strategy. The Shodawes doesn’t go flying as I’d hoped, but he stumbles back, loses his balance, and then drops to the ground.

“I can handle this!” Fiyr grunts.

I’d slap my forehead if my hands weren’t full of ash. “What’s gotten into you?! Use your fire!”

“I can’t!” Fiyr snaps back, but he sounds a lot less panicked than I’d be if I suddenly found out my life-force was useless. _Is he choosing not to use it?_

“What do you mean you—” My words are cut off as Sir Fiace leaps up from his position on the floor and throws his shoulder into my ribs.

I almost lose my grip on my sword, but my instincts take over and I throw my free fist into Clehw’s face, releasing in time to smear the ash into his eyes and make my fingers collide with his nose at a remarkably painful angle. _Shit!_ No time to contemplate my probably-broken fingers, though, because Fiyr suddenly shoves me out of the way as Sir Fiace’s clawed fingers shoot toward my face.

“I can handle this!” Fiyr repeats as I nearly hit the ground but break my fall with my good hand, _Graystripe_ knocking against the stone with a clatter. “Find someone else!”

I struggle to my feet, wincing as I tentatively try flexing my left hand’s fingers. Fiyr doesn’t elaborate more on his brilliant strategy of letting a Shodawes skewer him out of misguided stubbornness because the stoat summoner is launching another attack with flashing steel in one hand and knife-like claws in the other. Fiyr deflects one blow, but his claws catch him in the stomach.

“No!” I shout, not able to piece together more than _Is he trying to get himself killed—that injury better not be too severe—he’s bleeding, oh blessed Starlaxi—_ and tighten my grip on _Graystripe_ , then launch myself at Clehw once more.

“Weak,” the half-stoat snarls, fangs bared in a gruesome smile, and an old lesson flashes through my head.

_Knights don’t kill, Graie, but life or death overrules all else._ It’s Liyon Hart’s voice. Painful memories and bittersweet love for my mentor surge through me. _If the choice is death or a broken rule, know that you are too important to be lost for the sake of tradition._

 _And so is Fiyr,_ my mind finishes and I pull back my sword, then like an arrow pointed at the heart of a grazing doe, let it fly toward Clehw’s neck.

He turns in time to catch my blade in the apple of his throat. His cruel laugh turns into a shout, then a gurgle, and then, when his body hits the floor, a soft, airy crackle. Then nothing.

My hands are trembling, I notice, as they make drops of blood flick off of the blade in my hands.

“Graie—” Fiyr cries, voice twisted in pain. “What—what did you do?”

_If the choice is death…_

“We’re alive,” I answer. “Find somewhere to hide, your stomach looks bad.”

My voice is remarkably steady. I feel as though some force, maybe the Starlaxi, has lifted away all my feelings and fear, leaving behind just cold reasoning. _Let it—whatever it is—last until this battle is done,_ I pray, glancing behind me at the carnage. _Let it last, I need it._

I don’t wait to see if Fiyr’s okay—there’s no time to waste. Dashing back into the fight, I grab a wiry man crossing swords with Sewif by the back of his collar and yank him backward. He wails as he goes down and I drive _Graystripe_ into his leg. His voice grates higher in agony, but I’ve moved on to a new target, not sparing Sewif a second look.

An outlaw, looking like he’s in his fifties, is creeping toward Brindellia from where she stands, almost in a trance, on the dais. I rush him, but before I reach the dais he pulls out a blade and—

Is thrown to the ground when a golden-maned lion tackles him with a feral snarl. I avert my eyes quickly as the man begins to shout in terror and pain.

_Guess she can still sense her surroundings while summoning every beast from here to the silver peaks._ I’m impressed. The Trace is useful like that.

I hear a shout and turn. A man is being cornered by two prowling lionesses and I conclude that the two I saw were not the only ones that Lady Faise summoned. He lets out a chilling wail as they descend on him, and it draws the attention of the outlaws still fighting.

They take one look at the man being torn apart and flee. Or in the case of one by the east side, realizes he shouldn’t have taken his eyes off of Frostialla Fuor and find himself with an arm encased in ice. And then flees.

Someone whoops. I think it might be Samn. Another voice joins him—Frostialla—and soon the throne room is alive with cheers as the outlaws run. I add my voices to theirs, but I can’t shake a sinking feeling… like I’m missing something. I glance back at where Clehw’s body lies stiffly. _I had no choice._

Knowing that doesn’t help though. Everything I’d successfully buried after Sir Calew plummeted off the cliffs at Rivier comes surging back up with the bile in my throat. _I know there was nothing I could do. It won’t make me feel happy about it._ The cold reliance on reflexes of the battle fades and I’m left with the same hollow feeling, just waiting to be filled with grief and anger.

I glance around and then it hits me; Fiyr has disappeared. He’s not beside Clehw anymore, but I guess I did tell him to get somewhere safe. _Healer’s wing._

My own cuts that I hardly noticed receiving in battle are now stinging and competing for my attention. I grit my teeth and head for the healer’s wing, but pause when I hear voices within and listen silently, standing perfectly still.

“You killed him…” It’s Yllowei’s croak.

“And I’ll kill you too.” It takes me a moment to place the voice, but when I do, my eyes widen and I throw the door open.

“Braukkin!” I spit.

The fearsome man is standing with his back to me in front of Yllowei, who is hunched over and staring up at him, wide-eyed and face twisted in horror. I’m frozen, standing in the doorway as she opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a terrible choking sound. Her face goes red, like she’s suffocating, but there’s nothing… _His life-force._

Snapping out of my daze, I rush the ex-king and half-tackle him into one of the cots. He loses his balance and with a confused grunt, topples back onto a bed. He writhes like a snake under me and I can’t breathe momentarily as I come to grips with just how incredibly strong he is. He tries to throw me off, but only manages to shove me off the side of the bed a little.

“I can handle this—Graie—fetch Fiyr,” Yllowei chokes out.

“What?!”

“Go _now!_ ” she snaps, coughing raggedly.

Perhaps it’s something in her eyes, or her voice, or how disoriented I am with the entire situation, but something makes me nod, turn, and run out of the room. Braukkin is struggling to right himself again as I sprint through the hallway and up the dais, then yank open the queen’s chambers, praying.

“Is the battle—”

“Fiyr! No time to explain,” I gasp. “Fiyr, come on!”

He struggles out of one of the chairs, looking puzzled, but I just turn and push past Thorrin who is still bombarding me with questions about the battle and sprint back out into the throne room, hoping against hope that Yllowei isn’t dead. _I shouldn’t have left, I should have stayed and fought and tried to…_

But there’s no time! I need to get back to the healer’s wing. The seconds it takes to make it back to the room stretch into hours, every pace half-stumbled in my haste.

Fiyr’s hurrying after me. I can hear him speaking but the blood rushing in my ears is making it hard to hear his words. Finally, _finally_ I’m back at the door of the healer’s wing and I burst into the room, fully ready to stab someone.

Instead, what I see takes my breath away.

Yllowei has her spindly fingers locked around Braukkin’s wrist and is making an odd sort of low cry. Blood trickles down her cheeks from… _Oh, blessed Starlaxi, no…_

Where her eyes should be is just… just nothing. Black-red holes, dripping, dripping. My stomach lurches, but the horror’s not over.

Before Fiyr or I can react, a ripple of life-force washes over me and Braukkin suddenly screams.

_What’s happening?_

Then his dark, evil, eyes collapse into a fountain of red. His cry reaches fever pitch, then he drops backward and hits the ground with an awful hollow sound when his head falls back onto the stone.

“Blessed Starlaxi…” Fiyr whispers, sounding ill.

That’s when Yllowei turns back toward us and her gaze pins itself to me. Her unharmed eyes… unmistakable. An irrepressible shudder comes over me as I stare at her.

“How much did you hear?” she finally croaks.

“You were—you were talking about someone,” I manage. “Someone who died.”

A long breath goes out of Yllowei like it’s been held inside for a long, long time. “Yes. He died,” she answers. “I… I will tell you.”

I’m not sure I want to be told anything with the tyrant of Shodawa bleeding out on the stone, but all the same, I cross the room and sit on the edge of a cot.

“Before you…” I begin. “Um… is he okay? What…”

“I… I’ll get to that,” Yllowei tells me, looking at his body as though she reached into a bag expecting candy and found a large spider.

“And you broke the healer’s code!” Fiyr bursts out, still on the other side of the room. “You hurt him! Your life-force…”

“Yes. Sit down, Fiyr,” she says softly, more gently than I’ve heard from her.

He does, but doesn’t look away from Braukkin’s still body.

“Braukkin is my son,” she finally admits.

I freeze. “He’s…”

“What?” Fiyr finishes, his gaze finally snapping over to Yllowei.

“I broke the healer’s code, I know,” she says flatly. “And I broke it again. Harder the second time, somehow.”

“Who was…” I’m half-afraid to ask, but Yllowei doesn’t slit my throat, simply lets out a rusty laugh.

“Sounds like an old story from the time of the maiorum when I… well, no matter. The healer and the king, that’s what they call it. The ragged and the broken.”

_The ragged… the king…_ “The King of the Night.” _Raggidier._ “You had a son with the king?”

“We were United, boy.” She laughs again. “In love. Or as in love as two foolish children can be. And we had children.”

“Children?! _Plural?!_ ”

“Two died and what remained was not… not the same,” Yllowei murmured. “I… hid what we’d done. And then Raggid—Raggidier died. And somehow my life went on with nothing left. You know the rest of it.”

I’m speechless.

Fiyr is not.

“Holy shit, what now?!” he demands. “You did this to your son, but he—we need to kill him.”

“Probably,” Yllowei whispers, and her hands lift, a slight tremor in them, to her eyes. She presses on her eyelids lightly and swallows. “We’ll wait for the queen. He does no harm now.”

I nod, still unable to find my voice. _Her son—he kills_ children _. How do you go on?_ I’ve always thought I’d like children in some abstract, rosy future where it’s always summer and sickness and starvation doesn’t exist, but confronted with this sudden reality of a child growing up to cause so much suffering… I don’t know if the dreams are snuffed out, but I’m questioning things.

There’s sudden noise from outside; the queen or Sir Cawle must have returned. Yllowei is the first to stand, and Fiyr and I just watch as she hobbles out of the room. Once she’s gone I can feel him turn his gaze to me. I look down at Braukkin’s body.

“Should we… well, he’s… I feel like we should tie him up,” I offer, my voice weirdly loud compared to the total silence now that Yllowei dropped that bomb and left.

“Probably,” Fiyr agrees and we stand.

I do most of the lifting on the monstrous man, who is extraordinarily heavy, but Fiyr helps me roll him onto the cot. As he bends, Fiyr winces.

“Hey, you alright?” I ask, glancing from him to Braukkin’s prostrate body. My voice wavers.

“You…” He takes a pained breath. “You saved my life. Thank you.”

I swallow hard and everything feels simple for a moment, remembering the battle and Liyon’s words and Clehw as he struck Fiyr and as he no doubt would have struck again while the Thundrian was on the ground. “You know I would give my life for you.”

Fiyr is still staring at me, but I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze.

“Thank you,” he repeats, his voice choked off.

“We should go see what’s going on out there,” I finally say, pushing myself off the cot. Then somehow, after all these years, I hang back and wait for Fiyr to lead me on.

…

“Thundria,” Queen Bluelianna begins. “The tyrant Braukkin and his outlaw allies attacked our castle while Sir Cawle led a patrol on Shodawa after misleading traces caused us to believe they were responsible. Only our squires, ladies of the court, and the knights Sir Sterrip and Harte were there to protect the vulnerable.”

I hear Thorrin argue “I could have fought!” to his mother, who shushes him.

Queen Bluelianna only pauses for a moment, but I see her lips twist wryly. “I want to take a moment to honour the bravery of our squires, Duss, Samn, and Sewif. Our knights, Sir Fiyr Harte and Sir Graie Sterrip. And most importantly, our ladies of the court, Frostialla Fuor, Brindellia Faise, Goldanna Flourer, and Speikall Tiall.”

I join in the cheer, but I can’t help noticing that she didn’t tack ‘Lady’ onto the fronts of their names. _Huh._ It doesn’t exactly matter, though. Whether they’re ladies, knights, Riviens, or dragons, I was grateful to have Lady Faise on the battlefield.

“The final thing is… Braukkin has been captured,” the queen announces. A few shouts are thrown out, but they die down quickly enough. “Peace. We must decide how to proceed with him.”

“Kill him!” my mother shouts.

A chorus of agreements rises from the court. The queen holds up her hand, but she’s nodding.

“I feel that… perhaps, his crimes are too great to overlook. If he is left to his own devices… and he were to resume old activities, I don’t see how we could forgive ourselves,” the queen sighs.

“Wait.” The interruption rings from Sir Cawle and dozens of heads swivel to him as he steps forward, pristine Thundrian uniform a far cry from the blood soaked shirts of most of us caught in the fight. “Braukkin’s crimes were of murder.”

“And other… atrocities,” the queen comments, but nods for him to continue.

“How would we be any better if we were to kill him now?” Sir Cawle asks the amassed crowd. “How could we call ourselves better if we stoop to his level?”

_What?_ I frown. _We’re not proposing stooping to his level and sending Thorrin and Briatte into battle, we’re proposing killing him before he murders more children._

“I see what you mean, Sir Cawle, however…” the queen sighs. “Is the danger too great?”

“What about the danger to our kingdom’s name?” he answers fiercely. “Who are we to judge his crimes? The Starlaxi alone knows.”

No one challenges him openly, but I can feel a certain tension in the air. The court’s not happy.

“We cannot kill him. We would be just as bad as him,” Sir Cawle insists.

The queen nods slowly. “I understand. Thundrian cannot afford to let him walk free… how can we…”

“There are examples in our history of the kingdoms taking prisoners,” Wonn Eie pipes up. The crowd parts to allow her a direct path to the queen. “We could simply keep him where he is. If nothing else, it would let us debate this at our convenience.”

Her last words are sarcastic, but the queen nods with the same serious look. “I believe that may be our best move going forward.”

I can’t help feeling like I should point out that he could still escape. Blinded, but still. If Yllowei can give him that injury, there has to be someone, somewhere, who can take it away again. But all the same, I hold my tongue. _Better than turning him loose. The queen might still change her mind and have him killed. The other kingdoms won’t be happy about it, for all Tigre can talk of our kingdom’s ‘name’. King Naitienne especially since Braukkin nearly caused a war between two innocent kingdoms._

“But first, Samn and Duss, please take Sir Fiace’s body out for burial,” the queen asks. “We will celebrate tonight. Prepare the throne room for a ceremony.”


	22. Chapter 21 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boyssss here we go

Chapter 21 - Fiyr

It’s not easy to drape flowers on beams with a couple gashes in one’s stomach, but I’m doing my best. Yllowei patched me up, in any case, so I’m sure I’ll be fine. Probably.

The members of the court that are in good enough condition to be up and about are all decorating the throne room and dining hall for Flowerstar’s Day. With the rising tensions between kingdoms and knowing Braukkin was still on the loose, I forgot the holiday was coming, but now I see the queen’s wisdom; celebration of new life is just what the court needs. The battle with Braukkin and his tyrants was barely a week ago and everyone’s recovering.

Decorating for the festival is significantly less fun without Graie or Samn, though. Graie’s off in some corner ignoring me (as usual) and Samn is nowhere to be found. I assume Samn’s preparing for his knighting ceremony but after what Graie said to me in the healer’s wing, I thought things were going to change between he and I. Looks like I was wrong. _I would give my life for you._ Was he just saying he’d follow the knight’s code and protect Thundria, even at the cost of his life?

Still, I can’t shake the feeling that the battle changed something between us. He saved my life when Clehw was going to… I flinch involuntarily at the memory of his burn-scarred face looming over me, claws glinting as my vision fuzzed. Graie’s shout. Clehw’s blood arcing through the air, the thud of his body and the hollow knock of his head hitting the ground…

Even after what he said in the queen's chambers, months ago. Even though it’s like a knife lodged in my back and I know _he_ needs to apologize… I still just want him to come back.

“You gonna hang those up or do I have to do it for you?” Lady Fyrra demands.

I grit my teeth and throw a garland of daisies over one of the rafters. Now that Sir Fiace’s body has been hauled away and dumped into an unmarked grave, and the blood’s been scrubbed from the stones, the room’s beginning to look festive. It’s just me, Lady Fyrra, Lady Flourer, and Lady Fuor on decorating; half the court’s out collecting flower harvests from the villages. Lady Flourer is definitely carrying our team, although that’s pretty much expected. If you have flower summoning, Flowerstar’s Morn is your one-day-a-year time.

Samn and Duss are probably getting ready for their knight ceremonies, Graie’s... somewhere, and Cindra and Yllowei are holed up in the healer’s wing dealing with the aftermath of the injuries people sustained in last week’s battle.

“Take a break, I’ll deal with the rest of this,” Lady Fyrra orders, staring grimly at the piles of flowers we’re supposed to be laying around the room like they’re a patrol of enemy knights.

“Alright. Thanks,” I add as an afterthought and leave her to wrangle the unruly daisies. My feet turn toward the healer’s wing almost instinctively. When I arrive, it’s actually mostly deserted; just Lady Tiall, Yllowei, and Cindra.

“Hey,” Cindra mumbles when I come in. She’s sitting on the chair by Yllowei’s desk and staring down at a piece of paper in front of her. Yllowei is cleaning a gash in Speikall’s side.

“Hey!” I answer, infusing my voice with more brightness than I feel to make up for her lack of enthusiasm. Cindra continues to stare into the paper’s depths.

“There. Don’t strain that side,” Yllowei grunts and waves the lady off. “Let me know if you think it’s getting infected.”

“Haven’t really gotten a chance to talk to you since the battle…” I begin tentatively, trying to gauge Cindra’s mood. “What’s going on?”

“Been busy,” she answers and picks up a new piece of paper. Far as I can tell, they’re blank. She shuffles them.

“You missed all the excitement in the battle, huh?” I ask, hoping to relax some of the tension that’s settling like an unwanted guest and getting the opposite result for my troubles. “What’s wrong?”

She looks up at me, forehead creased and eyes shining with tears. “I’m useless. I couldn’t fight, I had to sit out here and listen to you all shout. It was _awful_.”

“Oh, no, no, come here.” I fold her in a hug and press her head to my chest as she sniffles. “You’re not useless! Fighting isn’t the only way to help the court. And in any case, you shouldn’t need to be _useful_. Just being you is enough.”

“Hey! Are you demoralizing my assistant?” Yllowei demands, hobbling over. “She’s been terribly helpful and if you turn her into a mopey mess, I’ll send you to an early grave!”

A surprised laugh bursts out of me at the threat. Cindra giggles as well through her sniffling. “I wasn’t doing anything!”

“I’ll have you know that Goldanna Flourer nearly bled out right here. If it hadn’t been for Cindra’s life-force and her quick thinking, she might have died,” Yllowei informs me. “I would never have thought to use cinders to cauterize her injury like that.”

“You… huh?” I pull away from Cindra, puzzled.

Cindra shrugs modestly. “I read some of the books Lady Fennen keeps around here when I was laid up, healing, and I dunno, guess I picked up something.”

“Never would’ve thought… well, I always figured your—or _our_ life-force couldn’t be used to heal,” I marvel aloud. “Huh. Cauterizing.”

Yllowei nods gruffly. “So if you put her down in the dumps again, I’ll—”

“Yeah, I get it,” I interrupt, not interested in her colourful threat.

Yllowei _harrumphs_ and shuffles off. “Old witch,” Cindra mutters affectionately.

I give Cindra another quick hug then pull back and give her a once-over. “You’re healthy. You’re going to live and you can walk, and everyone at court loves you. That’s what matters.”

Cindra elbows me. “Alright, you big sap, quit it.”

Tears fill my eyes. I try to blink them away, half-embarrassed at the response, and resist the urge to squeeze the guts out of her in another hug. I opt for a little pat on the shoulder instead.

“I’ll see you at the ceremony,” Cindra tells me, shooing me.

I give her a wave on my way out, buoyed by love for my difficult ex-squire. It’s amazing that a battle is what’s making me notice what’s been in front of me the whole time. Cindra and Yllowei hard at work, the memory of Samn’s ridiculous battle cry last week when the outlaw he was fighting got his sword stolen and turned against him, Graie’s words… I swallow. _Maybe that last one still needs some time to come around._

_And where’s Samn for the Starlaxi’s sake? I know he’s gotta get ready for his ceremony, but surely he could deign to appear before the peasants of the court?_ We haven’t talked much since… the battle. Or more precisely, the events directly preceding the battle. My cheeks flush and I dismiss the memories like someone at court will catch me if I think about them too much. _There’s nothing to catch! Just two knights of appropriate ages… spending some alone time. Together._

I just want to talk to him. He seemed so… skittish. Like we were doing something _wrong_. Maybe he had a gut feeling that Graie was going to almost-catch us, but it seemed like it was more than that… like he was hesitant. Worrying over every little detail hasn’t made me more at ease with what happened.

The throne room’s looking good, at least. The bright splash of the flowers livens up the washed out gray of the stone. It looks like when I was in the healer’s wing, nearly all the patrols returned. I’m relieved to see Graie amongst them; he was just out on patrol, not visiting the Rivien knight. Not that I expected that he was but… I worried. I worry about it a lot, actually, no matter how ‘over’ our friendship is.

I spot Duss in the crowd and blink. _Wait, if_ he’s _here, then is Samn out here too?_ But no, even as I continue scanning the group of knights and children alike, that strawberry-blonde head is nowhere to be found. _So what’s going on? Is he planning something?_

The queen emerges from her private chambers and strides around the throne to stand in the middle of the dais, sceptre in hand. She’s wearing a heavy-looking greenish-blue ceremonial gown that catches the light as she surveys the court, a reminder of the importance of the occasion.

“Let all of the court that have demonstrated their life-force gather for a court meeting!” Queen Bluelianna calls, not bothering to use the amulet that amplifies her voice as the whole court is already amassed. Samn doesn’t produce himself from any crevice of the castle.

The crowd falls silent and Duss pushes to the front but doesn’t climb the dais.

“Last week, valiant members of this court defended our home and kept it from the clutches of the tyrant king and his outlaws,” she declares. “Fiyr Harte and Graie Sterrip, as the only knights in the castle, I would like to honour you.” She pauses and the court’s eyes turn to me and over to my left where Graie must be. Pointedly apart from me. I can’t tell if anyone notices. “I would also like to emphasize that Thundria would be no more if it had not been for the courage of our fearless ladies of the court, Goldanna Flourer, Speikall Tiall, Frostialla Fuor, and, of course, Brindellia Faise. Our squires Sewif and Brakken have also proved themselves. But most of all, this has given cause for a ceremony that has been long overdue.”

_Overdue and missing one of the key people in it,_ I think, craning my neck and still trying to catch a glimpse of Samn through the crowd.

“Duss and Samn,” she announces.

That’s when the door to the queen’s chamber opens and something happens that doesn’t make _any_ sense.

Samn walks out, but... it’s not Samn. This not-Samn is wearing a ceremonial gown like the queen’s, but a paler green colour, like mint, the thick fabric sweeping across the stone dais like a breeze. His hair is tied up in some kind of up-do that is letting little curly strands hang down, framing his face, though his eyes are the same sharp olive they’ve ever been. As he nears the queen, I’m noticing other little details. His lips look coloured, his chest looks… like a sheet was crumpled up and squeezed under the dress. Or to be direct, as though he grew breasts overnight.

Samn looks like a _woman_.

The court erupts into whispers around me. I catch snippets— _Why is he—that’s not—is he—_ but I can’t focus on much of anything. Not-Samn’s eyes catch mine in the crowd and the bastard has the audacity to grin. I’m proud of myself for not fainting on the spot as those pinkened lips quirk up like we’re in on a joke together.

“Duss and Samn,” the queen repeats, raising her hand for silence, though I swear a ghost of a smile flickers across her face. Samn practically glides to her left side and Duss scrambles up the steps of the dais, the elegance of his clean uniform and combed hair undercut slightly by the fact that his mouth is hanging open.

The queen doesn’t bother with the question to the mentors of the squires that is customary; everyone and their grandmother have known that Duss and Samn were ready to be full knights a long time ago.

“Duss, do you promise to live by the knight’s code and protect and defend the great kingdom of Thundria, to defend and lay down your life for the court, until your final breath?” she asks, and puts her hand on the pommel of Winter’s Wrath.

“I—I do,” Duss stammers, his eyes still flicking past her to Samn, who is staring straight ahead serenely.

“Then I, Queen Bluelianna Star, ruler of the kingdom of Thundria, by the powers of the Starlaxi, give your full knight name. Duss, for your honesty and bravery, I name you for pelt.”

He nods, kneeling and waiting for her to finish Samn’s ceremony and give him his new name, though he can’t seem to stop glancing up at Samn in confusion. I’m having a hard time looking away from him either.

“Samn, do you promise to live by the knight’s code and protect and defend the great kingdom of Thundria, to defend and lay down your life for the court, until your final breath?” the queen asks.

Samn gazes at the queen steadily and dips his head. The little locks of hair swing as he does and I can’t help finding them terribly distracting. “I do.” His voice hasn’t changed at least; he still sounds like he had gravel for lunch.

“Then I, Queen Bluelianna Star, ruler of the kingdom of Thundria, by the powers of the Starlaxi, give your full knight name. Samn, for your courage and spirit, I name you for storm.” The queen gives him a firm nod. Samn kneels as well, tugging the skirts out of the way awkwardly as he does to let him make it to the ground.

Queen Bluelianna turns back to Duss and unsheathes Winter’s Wrath. “Rise, Sir Duss Peyelt.”

Then she turns.

“Rise, Lady Samn Schorme. Serve your kingdom with all your strength. Rise.”

I choke loudly. I think the ground is tilting under my feet. _Lady?_ Maybe she misspoke. Maybe Samn wore a dress and put his hair up like that and painted his lips and _grew breasts_ by accident—

But Samn’s turning to the court now and all eyes are pinned to him. Her? No one’s chanting the new knights’ names.

“You know me,” he starts. She starts. We are silent, watching, and waiting for an explanation for the appearance of this stranger before us. “Samn, son of the late captain of the guard, Redde Tayle and Lady Brindellia Faise. I’ve eaten beside you, patrolled beside you, and fought beside you my entire life. I’ve also lied to you.”

The court is silent. Waiting for an explanation.

“Before I was born, my parents decided something. That I would be raised as a boy, whether or not I was born one,” Samn continues, eyes roving over the court and taking in each disbelieving face. “That they would give me the same chance that is given to a boy born into a court. Queen Bluelianna and Spottalia Lief, may she rest in the Starlaxi, knew, along with a few members of my family, but from all else it was kept a secret.”

I glance to my sides, taking in their expressions. Whit Strommer seems like he might be paralyzed with shock. Goldanna Flourer’s face is unreadable.

“I didn’t mean this as a deception. But there would be certain… expectations placed on me if you had all known I was a girl. And with the help of my parents and the queen, I dodged all that, but I don’t want to keep the charade up forever. It’s _my_ choice to come out with it now,” Samn emphasizes, giving the court a meaningful look, “and I hope you all won’t treat me differently because of it. I still want to eat beside you, patrol beside you, and fight beside you, for the rest of my life. To serve Thundria. Now let’s celebrate Flowerstar’s Day together!”

But that sudden uptilt in tone isn’t going to do anything against the stares trained on… her. Samn glances at the queen, but she’s no help, simply surveying the court like she’s waiting to see how they’ll react. Samn turns back to the court and to my half-horror and half-something I can’t quite put a name to, her eyes land on me.

“There were instruments that were going to be played, I believe?” Samn calls, then glances back at me.

With that same little grin, she turns and after a moment of what I’m sure is staged deliberation, plucks a flower out of the bushels arranged by the queen’s throne and walks to the edge of the dais. My cheeks are flaming, I know they are, but all the same, I can’t help passing through the crowd toward… Samn.

As I reach out to take the rose (of course it’s a bloody _rose_ ) from Samn, I realize two things in rapid succession.

First, I think I’m in love with Samn Schorme, girl, boy, knight, lady, whoever.

Second, Whit Strommer is most certainly not paralyzed with shock, because at that exact moment, he lets out a piercing whistle.

As if it’s their cue, the music starts. Speikall Tiall is responsible for it, of course, the melody coming from the air, though Rynnin Wynnd has gotten his hands on a set of drums somehow and is tapping away on them with admirable… enthusiasm.

I’m not too focused on the music though, because Samn’s breathless smile and reveal have driven most everything else from my mind. The music seems to have snapped the tension in the room and people begin to split off into dance partners. Only about half the court is staring at Samn now.

“So…” I manage.

She spins me and I stumble.

“Sorry, do you usually lead?” she offers awkwardly as I regain my balance.

“No—just—uh, unexpected.” I stare at her. “Hey, also, what the fuck?”

Samn blinks, then laughs. “Sorry—sorry, I’m just a bit nervous. Um. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you?”

His—her voice tilts up at the end like it’s a question. Like she’s testing to see if she _needs_ to apologize. I shake my head, half-dazed. “I’m not _mad_ , just…”

“Disappointed?” she fills in. ‘She’ rings like a discordant note in my head.

‘She’ is dresses, needlework, music, flowers, soft voices, children, and warmth. ‘She’ is Princesca and the ladies of the court.

‘Samn’ is bulls-eyes, glass, sharp eyes, lean forearms, smirks and scowls, and occasionally very soft lips.

They don’t exactly fit together.

“Not disappointed!” I argue, snapping back to reality. “Confused. Very confused.”

Samn shrugs. “About what?”

“You’re a switched-soul?” I squint at her. I know about them; one of Princesca’s friends was one. She thought she was a boy until we were ten, and then explained to us she was actually a girl. Is Samn the same? _But that doesn’t make sense. She said her parents hid her gender. How could they have known?_

_She_ shakes her head. “No, no. I was born a girl.”

I nearly trip over my own feet when Samn spins me again. “Okay. Um. Okay.”

“I don’t feel any different,” she tells me, shrugging a bit as we move across the room in time to the music. “Why do you?”

“You’re a girl,” I mumble.

“Fiyr, I’m almost twenty-one. I’m a woman.”

Now _that_ makes me blush an even deeper shade. I believe the particular colour is called sunburnt beet.

“Okay—uh—okay, you’re… um.” My tongue isn’t cooperating. “Never kissed a girl.”

“You have, actually,” Samn teases. Now _that’s_ familiar; that glint in his eyes. In her eyes. Well, this is going to take some getting used to. “Why? Was that a request?”

I avoid stumbling and hurriedly change the subject. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t tell _anyone_ ,” she answers simply, but nods and takes a deep breath, glancing past me. “I’m sorry. There were times when I really did want to, believe me.”

A hundred little memories come back to me. “Your secret.”

“My secret. It’s out now, I guess.” She shrugs, feigning being carefree.

“What’s wrong?”

She blinks and looks down. “Things are going to change. I don’t want them to, but I feel like… like people need to know the _truth_.”

Samn delivers the last word with a dose of sarcasm that gives me pause. “Why’d you say it like that? Are you _not_ a girl?”

It would be… a relief, though I hate to say it. Even with the dress, and the hair, and everything, looking into Samn’s eyes, I see the boy I’ve spent a great deal of time falling in love with. It’s comforting, certain. _Girl._ That’s anything but. That’s unfamiliar territory. I can’t square the dress, the lips, hair, everything with the Samn I know. Even under all the feminine dress-up, he looks like the boy I know.

“I—I don’t know,” Samn admits. “I don’t feel like a girl. But I don’t even know _how_ to be a girl.”

“I guess you don’t want to spend all your time in the nursery with the babies,” I offer.

Samn gives me a look of sheer terror I can’t help a laugh. “Just kidding, kidding.”

“But that’s the thing! What’s everyone going to expect from me now? Just because I—I dunno, I’m… _shaped_ different,” she exclaims and I tactfully keep my eyes on her face, “doesn’t mean I’m any different than who I was! What changed?”

“Nothing, I guess.” I shrug. “Yeah. Nothing. You’re still Samn, just shaped different, like you said. Uh. Why’d you wear a dress?”

Samn rolls her eyes. “Mum’s idea. Stupid thing. It’s itchy.”

“I think it looks nice,” I offer.

“Yeah well, _I_ think it looks like I’m wearing a patch of grass, but thanks for your input.” That’s familiar.

I laugh. Samn continues muttering and picking at the dress, but her cheeks pink. We spin again and this time I’m ready. The song ends and a new one picks up; this time, Speikall Tiall raises her voice to add to the melody. This one’s pace is quicker, and it only takes a few moments before I’ve stepped on Samn’s foot and nearly fallen over.

“What are you doing?” she laughs.

“Dancing—shit,” I inform her, crashing directly into her when I step forward instead of back on the down beat. “Are you okay?”

Samn continues to step forward and back, swaying in time to the music without missing a single beat. _How?_ Even in the dress that she’s _clearly_ unfamiliar with, she manages to stay on the rhythm far better than I do.

“You don’t have some secret stashed in your room that lets you dance better, I suppose?” I grumble.

“Nope, no dart board for this,” Samn laughs, glancing down as I misstep and catch the hem of the pale mint dress. “I, er, had… lessons.”

“When?!” I demand. “Is this why the queen was delaying your ceremony?”

“Not… exactly. We had them together,” she tells me and I blink.

“I think I would’ve remembered.”

“Simple sparring.”

“Huh?”

Samn laughs as I stumble again and pulls me back on balance. _Strong._ I chide myself for being surprised. _What would have changed that?_

“Simple sparring, Fiyr, one forward and one back. One attacks, and one defends, then you switch,” she reminds me and I flash back to the scuffles on the dirt. “I attack…”

She steers me forward and then spins me again. I stay on the beat by some miracle of the Starlaxi.

“While you defend. Then you advance…” And I step forward at the same time as she steps back, blowing the strands of hair out of her eyes as she goes. Even with the distraction, we pause at the right moment, then she steps forward again and we move in time to Sir Wynnd’s overenthusiastic drumming.

“Holy shit,” I mumble.

“Magical, isn’t it?” She laughs. My happy daze freezes for a moment when I realize something.

“Your laugh.” I can’t manage much more than that. The laugh in question fades and Samn blinks.

“What?”

This time, _I_ can’t help a half-confused laugh. _That’s not what it sounds like._ Every laugh I’ve heard out of Samn is the same gruff chuckle. This laughter is high and bright like a bell. _More feminine._

“What did you do to disguise yourself, anyway?” I ask, hurriedly dismissing her furrowed brow over the laughter comment.

“You know,” she answers. I don’t look down.

“No, like what _else_?”

“Why, thinking of becoming a ?” She grins. I colour.

“Uh, well, _no_ , I just—”

Samn shrugs. “You could pull it off. Your dainty little nose and baby face? For sure.”

_My nose is dainty?_ “Could not! I mean—whatever. I was just curious about the little stuff. Like… I noticed your laugh is different.”

The last comment is hesitant, and as I suspected, she frowns. “What about it?”

“Nothing, it’s… it’s just different. Nice. Different.”

Samn shrugs. “Dunno. My laugh. My hair. Sometimes my voice, even. I don’t sing.”

I blink. “Hadn’t noticed.”

“Not many opportunities to sing anyway. With Lady Tiall around… the competition is too fierce,” she jokes.

I laugh and become suddenly aware of my own mannerisms. _My laugh doesn’t exactly sound manly either, though._ I’ve always sounded like a giggly twelve-year-old, even after my voice dropped. _I don’t sing either. What was it he—she said about h—her hair?_

“What’s different about your hair?”

“I can’t put it up very far,” she tells me. “Er… couldn’t, I guess. Now I can go bald and the _whole damn court_ will still know.” She snorts and I can’t tell if she’s upset or not. “I put my hair up high once, just to see. I didn’t even leave my nook; the whole court would’ve figured me out instantly.”

I’m not sure about that; her hair’s in what I think is just an elaborate bun with a little let down on either side and she still looks like Samn. But of course, now I want to see her put her hair up high. I file that thought under ‘don’t tell her, you’ll die of embarrassment’.

“Huh,” I say instead.

“I wanted to keep it long, even though Brindellia said it was too feminine. Spottalia took my side,” Samn recalls with a smile.

_Spottalia._ “So she was in on it too, I guess…” I shake my head, banishing the memories. “Hey, did Lady Fennen know?”

“Of course.” Samn laughs and shakes her head. “I still remember… after we met and we were riding out to Vide to recruit the Shodawes elders, do you remember? Well, she asked me straight-up why everyone thought I was a boy.”  
“Old witch,” I quote, laughing.

“Yeah, exactly. I damn near had a heart attack, but she must’ve understood enough to not out me to the court.” She shrugs. “Made some things easier.”

“What things?”

Samn grins. “You want to know?”

I feel worried.

“Actually, that’s something you might remember. Our first journey to the silver peaks?” she asks. I nod, remembering the journey. And how much Samn and I were bickering. _Blessed Starlaxi, why did we waste so much time with all that?_ “When I threw up, it wasn’t because we’d been riding. It was because my cycles started.”

My eyes widen. “Oh no. Did you get cramps, too?”

She nods grimly. I wince sympathetically. “Sir Cawle nearly found me out. Speaking of which, I need to go threaten him.”

“You—”

Samn pulls away and gives me an awkward little wave. “Well… uh, talk more later. Bye.”

“Okay,” I agree, still a little blindsided by her sudden withdrawal. I look around the courtroom, taking in the celebration. Speikall’s changed to a new song at a point when I wasn’t paying attention and everyone is spinning around in pairs save for the aforementioned captain of the guard and the queen, who stand off to the side of the room and speak in low, quick tones. I can’t exactly ask one of them to dance, and everyone else seems occupied.

A little snort of laughter escapes me when I catch a glimpse of Duss and Graie dancing together, both of them looking terribly displeased to find themselves in the situation. Duss is surprisingly graceful, and Graie is keeping up, so if it weren’t for their matching scowls, they’d make an excellent pair. _Oh, well._

I leave the floor of the throne room to go off to the edge where the hallways leading to other parts of the castle are and spot Cindra, sitting by the healer’s wing. I walk over and sit on the floor next to her.

“Well, well, well.” She sounds awfully amused by something. I elbow her.

“Shush.”

“Nice dance moves.”

I redden and elbow her again. “Thanks for your input. I didn’t see you up there.”

Cindra gives me a look. It’s almost like a warning, but I shake my head, ignoring the message. _She’s going to celebrate too, or I’ll become Yllowei’s novitiate._

“C’mon! It’ll be fun,” I coax. Cindra’s frown becomes more of a doubtful look, then shock when I jump to my feet, grab her hands, and pull her out of the chair. She yelps and loses her balance, but I pull her back onto her feet and start swaying to the music. Thankfully, it’s a slower song now.

Cindra colours and follows my movements, bobbing from side to side. We can’t really move much forward or backward because of her leg, but she manages a little step to the left, then back, and I join her in it, then do a mock spin on my own and she laughs.

Eventually, the song changes again to a much faster one and the court becomes a blur of Thundrian uniforms and ceremonial clothing that some people bothered changing into. Cindra huffs and collapses into her chair, still laughing a bit and red-cheeked with exertion.

“See! I knew it’d be fun!” I exclaim, high-fiving her, which she returns with a little eye-roll.

The court dances for a few more songs until Rynnin looks like he’s going to pass out and Speikell steps down from the dais with the tell-tale glassy-eyed look of someone who stretched their life-force a little further than it could go.

We file into the dining room and an unlucky few are banished to the kitchen to bring out the food that half the court has been spending the day making. The tables are lined with puddings, steamed vegetables, roasted pork and glazed venison, and of course, bunches of flowers for decoration. I’m particularly proud of the daisies.

I sit with Samn, Cindra, Faern, Clowd, Sir Strommer, and Lady Faise. Lady Fennen, Queen Bluelianna, and Sir Cawle are seated further down along our table, which I guess is an honour for us, but it feels more like a punishment since all three of them are sitting in stony silence. Something’s hanging over them, but whatever it is, I’m in too good of a mood to care. Even though I’m still reeling from Samn’s revelation, I can’t help thinking it doesn’t mean much. _So what if she’s a girl?_ Should I be feeling betrayed? I understand why she did it.

Cindra is in high spirits as well after Yllowei’s declaration in the healer’s wing and she’s chatting eagerly and laughing alongside Sir Strommer, whose cheeks have a tint that makes me think he’s had more than a cup or two of the mulberry wine, of which a pitcher is set out on each table, and Brindellia Faise, who seems more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her. Faern and Clowd are on either side of her, both devouring their servings that Lady Faise carefully cut up for them and excitedly anticipating their own knighting ceremonies.

I help myself to a cup of the wine, which Cindra pretends to reach for when I set it down. Samn laughs and swats her hand away, then pours some elderflower-sweetened water into her cup.

“Thanks.” Cindra sticks her tongue out at the new-minted knight.

“When you’re older,” Samn teases.

“Yllowei gave me some when I was healing!” Cindra protests.

“Is that true?” I turn to the healer, raising an eyebrow.

“To dull the pain!” she exclaims, exasperated, though seeming thankful to be distracted from the silent staring contest that Queen Bluelianna and Sir Cawle are engaging in. “Youngsters.”

Cindra stifles a giggle with her cup of water and I can’t help but smile as well. Samn exchanges a look with Sir Strommer, who seems to have taken Samn’s revelation in stride. The wine may have helped.

We continue eating, drinking, and laughing long after it gets dark, until finally, the energy begins to fizzle out and little by little, the court heads to their rooms. Clowd and Faern are in bed by sunset, then the elders head away to their quarters, then Sewif is sent off by Lady Flourer, and finally, the knights leave for their rooms. I walk with Samn to the doors of the castle where she’ll stand vigil with Duss.

“Thanks,” she offers when we reach the entrance.

I smile awkwardly, not knowing what to say after everything. She saves me my trouble by giving me a light kiss and then pulling back with the same half-unsure smile.

“Have a good… vigil.” I give her a little punch on the arm and we both relish in the almost-awkward giddiness before I turn away to head to bed. Even Graie pointedly ignoring me when I tell him goodnight can’t spoil my good mood.

Just knowing that tomorrow will be another day with Samn, Samn _Schorme_ now, and that, at least for now, we’re at peace, makes me drift off to sleep the moment I’m secure under my sheets.


	23. Chapter 22 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you haven't been following my tumblr, I'm now planning on synchronizing publishing of AO3 with FFn, therefore I will be publishing chapters hopefully once a day until we catch up! enjoy all the content flooding your way heheh

Chapter 22 - Fiyr

In the chaos and revelry of last night, I managed to forget that we have the four kingdoms’ most wanted criminal camping out in our healer’s wing. This rapidly becomes important when Queen Bluelianna calls a court meeting this morning.

Most of the court is either hungover or tired or both from last night, but we all snap to attention when we see that the queen isn’t alone on the dais. Kneeling at her feet like an unruly child is a man whose face is obscured by a thick white bandage that wraps over most of his face, completely hiding his eyes, but who is instantly recognizable from his shape and size. _The tyrant of Shodawa._ There’s something undeniably poetic about this monster of a man who has spent the last decade terrorizing our court, along with the rest of the kingdoms, on his knees in a posture as weak as if he were flat on his back next to our monarch.

The queen’s message is less than satisfying, though.

“I have debated this with our captain and healer for many hours, deliberating on every side of the matter, and we have decided to keep Braukkin as a prisoner indefinitely. He will live.” Her lips press together with the final word as though to seal herself off from the criticism.

The backlash is instantaneous; this is not a popular decision. Trying to block out the court, I stare at Braukkin. He seems harmless now, docile even. There’s no way he’ll be doing much in his current state, surely?

But still... I remember the kid at my first Gathering. He was younger than I was at the time, and I was just a little kid. If things had been different, and Braukkiniaum had taken over Thundria instead… would he have sent Clowd off to die? The mere thought sends a flash of protective fury through me. The clamoring of the court snaps into sharp focus; we are deciding on the fate of a man who has done his worst to others, and choosing mercy for a man who has killed those we’ll never know.

My gaze moves from the tyrant to the queen. Her jaw is set, but I can’t help feeling like there’s a glimmer of indecision in her eyes. Could her mind be changed? But to what? Should we execute him? I’ve never seen it happen at court and even in the history textbooks, it always seemed to clear-cut. An evil man and a righteous court with no other option. Not a blind ex-tyrant.

“Silence!” It’s Sir Cawle, not the queen, from whom the shout comes. “The queen has spoken!”

Of course he would be the first to speak up for her decision; based on what he said after the battle, it was probably _his_ decision. If anything, his defense only serves to cement my opinion that mercy is not the right path here. If Sir Cawle would benefit from this, then it’s not good for all of Thundria.

But when I look back up at the queen, the uncertain glimmer in her eye is gone. That is, if it was ever there at all.

“He is stripped of his crown and will henceforth be known as Braukkin Tiull.” Her sceptre hits the ground just once, like a door slamming. “Sir Cawle will organize you into patrols for the day. If anyone has other _questions_ about my decision, I’ll be in my chambers.” She turns on her heel and strides back toward the door, and without glancing back, vanishes into her room.

My hands clench and release in helpless fists. What can we do? She’s made her choice, and from her last comment, I suspect she won’t take well to us trying to change her mind. I look back at Braukkin. Yllowei has crossed the dais to him and is helping him back and I notice something.

The star on his forehead, the one I’ve seen on all the monarchs at the Gathering, is still firmly in place, clear as day. Though I expected no different, it’s chilling to see the reminder than the queen and everyone else can call him whatever they like, but the Starlaxi’s Nine Blessings are still his. The past can’t be undone. _And neither can his crimes._

I see Lady Flourer and Lady Peilte standing in Yllowei’s way, but she hisses something inaudible to them and they move. Braukkin trails behind the old healer— _His mother,_ I recall, with a flash of unease—and they disappear into the healer’s wing. _Surely she wouldn’t…_ A ridiculous image of Yllowei smuggling the ex-tyrant out of the castle in the middle of the night crosses my mind, but I shake my head, dismissing it. _No. That’s nonsense; she made it clear he was her son, and nothing more._

_Nothing more._ Still, watching where she was a moment ago, my heart aches for her. _If I had a child and that child broke the knight’s code in such an extreme way…_

“Sir Cawle wants you on patrol.” It’s Samn, who snuck up behind me while I was reflecting on the pain I’d feel if my theoretical children committed theoretical crimes. Thinking of it that way makes me huff a laugh. _What a stupid thing to be worried about right now._

“Right, thanks.” I turn to her and blink. She’s back in regular Thundrian uniform. Regular _knight’s_ uniform, that is; she’s not wearing the ladies’ dress. Then again, Lady Fyrra doesn’t wear the ladies’ dress, but I still thought that maybe after last night she was going to transform into someone else.

“You’re staring,” she informs me bluntly.

“Right—sorry—I—” I half-bow awkwardly and hurry past her to where Sir Cawle is conducting a cluster of knights.

“And take Sewif with you,” he tells Sir Teyl, then trains that intense stare on me. “Sir Harte.”

I bob in the same half-bow as before. “Sir?”

“You and Sir Sterrip will go to Tenedor for uniforms,” he tells me dismissively, already turning back to Sir Teyl, but I’m certain I saw a knowing glint in his eye.

_Sir Sterrip. Oh boy._

I scan the courtroom for Graie and I spot him sharpening _Graystripe_ on the edge of the dais. Seeing the bucket beside him, I’m hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia. I brush it off before I start throwing myself at his feet and begging him and the Starlaxi to make things return to the way they were years ago. _Get over it. He certainly has._

“Graie, we’re going to Tenedor for uniforms.” I’m standing right in front of him and he glances up lazily, barely meeting my eyes.

“Alright.” WIth a half-groan, he stands and stretches, _Graystripe_ swinging above his head. I almost have to jump back to avoid being sliced. He lays the cloth over the polished blade once more and wipes it across, then drops the rag back in the bucket. “Lemme just put this away.”

I nod stiffly and watch him as he heads into the kitchen with the bucket. _So we’re going with cordiality? I wish he’d hand out schedules of his mood._

Eventually, he comes back, though I’m convinced he stayed there longer just to make me squirm, and we head out to the stables.

“Which way is Tenedor, again?” I squint out at the horizon once we’ve mounted our horses. It’s early enough in the morning that the sun is pointed right in my eyes.

“East,” Graie answers.

“Great.”

I consider commenting on how quickly he knew the answer and his interest in maps. The silence stretches longer and longer until it would be incredibly painful and forced to say it now. _Guess we’re just doing silence, then._

For every stream or bush we pass, I think again about breaking down and demanding that Graie apologize and stop seeing the Rivien knight so everything can go back to the way it was before. And then every time we cross the stream or pass the bush, I decide against it.

_This is going to be a long ride._

…

Things don’t improve that evening. Both Graie and I are put on the Gathering patrol, and somehow end up riding alongside each other, a stain of silence on the otherwise chattering group of the Thundrian court.

I glance at him every so often, wondering if there’s anything I can say, then recalling that it’s his damn fault we’re in this situation anyway, and if anyone should be stressing out over how to bridge the gap between us, it should be him!

Thundria arrives by the pavilion and we dismount, lashing the horses to the edge of the tree line and walking on foot to the pavilion itself. I see that Wynnd’s already arrived and beeline for a familiar head of sandy brown hair.

“Owen! Owen Newskar!” I exclaim, splitting away from the Thundrian crowd. “Remember me?”

The man turns and warm brown eyes greet me. He grins and I’m briefly thrown off balance by how much older he looks, but familiar at the same time. _Do_ I _look the same to him?_

“Of course! How could I forget… uh,” he tilts his head, then laughs, “Sir Fiyr Harte! I’m just messing with you!”

I can’t help a bemused laugh at how gregarious he is. _I guess not everyone’s feuding with their ex-best friends and being confused and worried about the court detaining a tyrant._

“How’s Wynnd? How’s the court? Everyone getting on okay?” I ask eagerly. “Damn, how’s Georse?! He must be a squire by now, eh?”

“You bet!” Owen grins. “And guess who ol’ King Tahl decided to make his mentor?”

“No way!” I punch his shoulder. “Congratulations!”

He pretends to bow. “Thank you, thank you. As for the rest of us, well, we’re getting on. Castle’s rebuilt, territory’s patrolled, villagers are suitably cowed by our strength.” He flexes and winks at me.

“Didn’t get any nasty surprises waiting on the territory?” I ask. “I know Graie and I found an old dragon cave when we were looking for you guys.”

Sir Newskar dismisses it, waving his hand. “Nah, ‘course not. We weren’t gone long enough for anything really nasty to settle in. Couple mercs tried their luck with some villages. We reminded them who was in charge.”

“You haven’t brought Georse into any battles, have you?”

He laughs. “Are you kidding me? Marrani’d kill me. Her precious boy!”

“She scares me a bit.” I shudder.

“So, has Queen Bluelianna deigned to grant you a squire, or do you fritter away your days, playing the lute and eating figs?” he jokes. The subject leaches the humour out of the situation for me, though.

“Oh… actually…” I lower my voice, sobering. Owen looks worried at the sudden change. “I did have a squire, but there was an accident. Her leg got hurt… very badly.”

“Blessed Starlaxi! Is she alright?” Concern draws his brows together tightly.

“She’s doing great at the moment, but…” Even now, my voice softens to hide the quiver in it when I say, “She’ll never be a knight.”

“Fiyr, I’m so sorry.” Owen’s eyes are sympathetic, but court propriety keeps any further display from producing itself. I swallow.

“It’s—it’s alright, really. She’s doing well. I’m just glad she’s alive,” I admit. “But she’s a fighter.”

He half-smiles, still seeming uncertain.

“But tell me about training Georse! Is he a good squire?” I change topics, eager to return him to his good mood.

“Well, when Marrani isn’t—oh, I think the monarchs are starting,” Owen interrupts himself, glancing up at the platform.

I turn as well, in time to see Graie’s disapproving stare that he’s directing my way before I fix my gaze on the monarchs.

“Wynnd will begin,” King Tahliorius announces. For a moment, I think that his eyes meet mine through the crowd, but then they dart away again, skimming the crowd like a bird over the moor. “We had a brief problem with mercenaries in some of our outer villages, but we… put a stop to it without too much trouble. I’d like to honour the bravery of Lady Fote and Sir Newskar!”

I whoop and clap Owen on the back. He laughs and ducks away, red tinging his cheek as those nearest turn to congratulate him.

“Thundria will go next.” The queen’s voice is cold and it makes me pause. Owen gives me a puzzled look and I shrug. “Rivier has been unfairly taxing the village of the Sun Rocks.”

A flurry of whispers runs through the crowd, though no one dares challenge it outright. No one save for King Crukkedaro.

“Excuse me? I must have misheard you.” His fiery gaze seems less like ‘didn’t hear you’ and more like ‘I dare you to say that again’, though.

“I said, Rivier has been taxing the village of the Sun Rocks unfairly.” Though her voice is level, the queen’s face is set in ice, ready to weather the Rivien king’s outrage.

Another chorus of whispers abound, then are silenced as King Crukkedaro retaliates.

“Thundria still has much to answer for,” he retorts. “Our ranks still feel the loss of Sir Calew after he was killed in an _unfortunate_ incident involving _your_ knights on _our_ territory.”

_Low blow._ I suck in a breath and instinctively scan the people around me for Graie. His face is white and slack at the mention of the knight and despite how strained things are between us, I can’t help a protective instinct from rearing up inside me and telling me to make the king eat dirt for leveraging the death of one of his own to refute an accusation of unfair taxation.

“Not to mention!” he shouts over the upheaval in Thundria and Rivier at the mention of Sir Calew. “Not to mention the traces of some Thundrian knight, an elementalist, on _our_ territory.”

“In the water?!” someone shouts from the crowd. I can’t identify the voice, but I also can’t definitely say that it wasn’t Duss.

I try to stifle a laugh, knowing this is too serious for me to start giggling now. _That was Graie, wasn’t it? Oh, blessed Starlaxi, if the Rivien knights are finding traces of him now, how long until they’re finding the whole person? He needs to stop meeting her, for his sake._

Graie’s not where he was before and I can’t gauge his reaction. For all I know, he’s burrowing deeper into the Thundrian crowd to protect himself from the mob of Rivien knights that might recognize his trace.

“We found Shodawes trace on Thundrian territory as well!” A voice shouts suddenly. I blink, disoriented, then place it as Sir Cawle.

_What? What is he doing?! We know those were Braukkin and his outlaws!_ Panic sets in as Naitienne Star jerks upright like he’s been shocked and scowls.

“No Shodawes knight has laid foot on Thundrian soil. We will not stand by while you slander our kingdom,” he snaps.

Queen Bluelianna, though she’s far away, looks as surprised as I feel. _What is Sir Cawle doing?_ But if she countermands him now, we risk looking weak.

“Perhaps they were simply outlaws of some kind. Braukkiniaum’s, even,” she offers, eyes sharp as they fasten themselves onto where I assume Sir Cawle is standing by the platform.

King Naitienne backs down a little bit, placated by the offering. “Perhaps. Until the tyrant is fully excised from our lands, it is difficult to be certain. All four kingdoms must be vigilant so we may bring him to justice.”

_Oh no._ And it was going so well, too, until he said that. _So the other kingdoms—or Shodawa, at least—agree that Braukkin needs to answer for his crimes, more than being detained in our healer’s wing indefinitely._ I can only hope the other courts don’t find out that we’re harboring him. At least not until Queen Bluelianna changes her mind about what we’re doing with him.

“Rivier must answer for the taxation, however,” the queen declares, setting the whole thing off again.

“And what of Sir Calew and the unknown traces?” King Crukkedaro demands. “Will we not be answered for that?”

“Thundria is honorable, surely they wouldn’t…” the king of Wynnd interjects uneasily.

“Your meaning?” Crukkedaro spins to regard the other man. “Would you imply that Rivier is not equally so? Or were we simply not there at the right time to rescue your court from their own weakness and win your eternal gratitude?”

King Tahliorius doesn’t dignify that with a response, and from the reactions around me, he doesn’t need to. King Crukkedaro crossed a line, and it doesn’t help that no one outside of Rivier has been in a hurry to forget how quickly he capitulated to Braukkin.

“The moon!” A shout suddenly goes up, shocking the squabbling monarchs into silence. A hush falls over the pavilion as we all look up to see that the milky disc in the sky is completely obscured by the long gray finger of a cloud.

“Back to the castle, Thundria,” the queen declares and disappears from the top of the platform without even a glance of farewell to the kings behind her. Sir Cawle helps her down, but she shoots him a look clearly communicating ‘I’ll deal with you when I get the chance’.

Though I’m glad to see that she’s not blindly following Sir Cawle into Thundria’s ruin, I still feel unnerved by how the court is dividing; the captain of the guard and the queen at odds can’t be good for us.

“See you around, Fiyr. Hopefully in better times, next time,” Sir Newskar comments to me, giving me a little mock-salute as he backs away to rejoin his court.

I return the salute and send a silent prayer to the Starlaxi for the same thing. _I have enough other things to deal with. Please._

When I get back to the Thundrian crowd that’s heading toward the trees where we left our horses, I spot Graie hanging back. My breath catches in anger when I see that he’s with the Rivien knight. _What in the name of the Starlaxi is he thinking?! After he almost got caught?_

Then quick as the flicker of a candle, he’s back in the court’s ranks and the Rivien’s silver hair gleams once under the moon, then she vanishes into the shadows with the rest of her court. But I’m not letting it go unremarked upon.

“Graie!” I call, cutting through the crowd to him. _Here we go again._


	24. Chapter 23 - Graie

Chapter 23 - Graie

_Here we go again,_ is my first thought when I hear Fiyr calling my name.

“Mhmm?” I turn, praying that he’s not coming after me because of how I pulled Sila aside at the end of the Gathering, there. _We had to talk! They found my trace!_

“What are you playing at?! They found your trace!” he hisses, storming right up to me, heedless of the court around us that could be listening. _Well, shit._

I turn away from him and look straight ahead. “Quiet down.”

“I’m not going to quiet down while you’re still putting our entire damn court in jeopardy!” he snaps, but lowers his voice all the same.

“I’m not putting anyone in _jeopardy_ except myself, and I’m happy to be there,” I mutter, still avoiding his furious gaze.

“How can you say that after what happened tonight?” he retorts, a shout simmering under his tightly controlled tone. “There are rifts between our kingdoms and the worst thing to do now is to exacerbate it! You have to stop meeting her.”

We make it to the trees and I pull loose the knot on Quicksilver’s lead. I mount and spur her after the rest of the court, but Fiyr is undeterred. Blitz falls into step with my gray mare.

“Promise me you’ll stop.” Something in his voice makes the sharp reply die in my throat. I risk a glance at him. There’s desperation in his eyes, and it mirrors a thought I’ve been trying to quash for months. _I miss you._

“I _can’t_.” It’s laced with the same desperation, but he doesn’t seem to hear it.

“Graie!” I thought his lecturing was bad but the genuinely distraught lines of his face are worse. My stomach turns.

“Fiyr, I love her.” The admission is too soft to be heard by anyone, the sound trampled under the horses’ hooves, but Fiyr shakes his head, pale.

“Don’t say that. Please, don’t say that. I miss you, Graie, I want things to go back to normal, but that can’t happen if you’re still running around, breaking the code!” he whispers, pleading now.

I swallow hard. _I can’t even say that we haven’t broken the code yet._ I’ve crossed too many lines to give up what I sacrificed everything for in the first place. Remembering Sila, I steel myself. “No, Fiyr.”  
“Why?! I don’t understand, Graie!” he exclaims, helplessness all over his features.

My knuckles tighten on Quicksilver’s reins. “No. You don’t. And that’s the problem. I _know_ it was hard to come as a god-toy into the court, but you’re favoured by all the knights that matter, our healer owes you her life, the queen trusts you, and you’ve got a happily ever after with Samn just _waiting_ for you to ride into. It’s not like that for me. Can’t you see? This is my chance to be happy, and I can’t risk losing it. Not for Thundria.”

_Not for you._ The silent echo is as soft as a feather but as solidly within me as a stone.

“Between me and that Rivien, you’re really choosing her?” He’s disbelieving.

“Well—come on. We haven’t spoken properly for a long time,” I defend.

“You’re choosing her?” he repeats.

“I’m—I’m not choosing anyone,” I retort.

“What are you going to do, Graie?” Fiyr asks, shaking his head. “Even if you don’t care about your own safety, you have to see that this is hurting the court. You heard King Crukkedaro. He’s not going to let it slide, especially not after what Queen Bluelianna brought up.”

I shake my head, mute. _No matter what. I’m not giving her up. I can’t._

“At least stop meeting her on kingdom land!” Fiyr urges.

I purse my lips. “Alright. Only at the solstice pavilion.”

He’s only more outraged at the agreement, which makes me blink. _It’s what he wanted! What’s his problem now?!_ “So you’re willing to make changes not to get caught, but not to actually give up your code-breaking behaviour?!”

_I’d be giving up more than my behaviour._ But I don’t say that. I just scowl at him.

“This has gone on long enough,” Fiyr growls. I can’t tell if he’s going to punch me or start crying and I tighten my grip on Quicksilver’s reins, waiting. “Pick one. The Rivien or the kingdom. Her or—or _me_.”

“I’m not going to do that,” I answer, gritting my teeth. _He’s so childish._

“I won’t talk to you. Ever again.” He’s serious, but the threat resembles one of a little kid. I resist the urge to reprimand him. “Choose.”

_This is it._

It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff with the strange awareness that you could just end your life by stepping forward. Like being on the brink of a chasm and feeling that awful, hollow sense of… _this is it._

“You wouldn’t like my answer.” The words hang between us and I turn to look at him. _If we’re doing this, then we’re doing it._

What I see in his face makes one thing painfully obvious; he didn’t expect this answer. His mouth, set in angry lines, goes slack and the green fire in his eyes dies. _Was he bluffing?_ My cold resolve that set in just moments before evaporates in a blaze of disbelief. _He thought he could threaten me and I’d cave, throw myself at his feet begging forgiveness for telling him that he—_ The contemptuous comment about his past life sends hot guilt through me, sucking away the righteous feeling and leaving shame behind. _I was wrong for that. But I’m choosing this now._

“Then it’s really over…” Fiyr mutters.

“Fiyr.” But it’s useless; he pulls Blitz’s reins to one side in a jerky movement and is enveloped in the rest of the Thundrian court in moments. My thoughts are left to echo his statement. _It’s really over._

Certainly, I’d known how it was for a long time, but I couldn’t help feeling like we weren’t _really_ done, not yet. Like there was something brewing between us, waiting to bubble to the surface in a fight, or an insult, or a shouting match. And now that’s all gone, turned to dust and blown away by the wind.

Now what? Are we just two members of the court? Enemies? Will we be stiffly polite to each other, or friendly? Or is he going to really make good on his promise to just never talk to me again?

_Then who am I left with?_ The thought knocks around inside me, testing out the new hollowness in my chest. _Sila. This is all for her anyway._ But as much as I love her, it’s hard to picture a life with her as my only companion. Especially since she’s a kingdom away.

Picturing the future makes my heart ache. Dark days alone with only a moment stolen here and there with Sila to brighten them. _If Fiyr thought putting a proper end to our relationship was the way to get me to rely_ less _on Sila, his fire must have fried his brain._

Surrounded by my court, the ride back to the castle still feels lonely. _But I guess I’d better get used to it._

…

Instead of dismissing the court to their chambers like she often does after a Gathering, Queen Bluelianna calls a court meeting instead.

The words reverberate off the stone walls and knights and ladies that seemed like they were just about to get into bed filter out of the doors of the nursery or the stairs, rubbing eyes and some already half into their sleepclothes.

“The Gathering brought bad news for our kingdom,” the queen announces heavily. “The Starlaxi was forced to send clouds to cover the moon. It appears that Shodawa and Rivier have united against us and we stand with Wynnd in opposition to them.”

Worry ripples through the court at the solemn declaration. _Please, don’t let things get worse between us and Rivier,_ I pray silently. _No battles. I couldn’t live with that._

“Sir Cawle will increase the number of patrols along the Rivien border to compensate,” the queen announces. “We will pray that a battle will be avoided, but we cannot expect Shodawa and Rivier to rest on their laurels and if they look to challenge us, we will respond in kind.”

My stomach turns and I keep my eyes pinned on the queen. I have a feeling Fiyr is giving me a meaningful look. _Or maybe he isn’t. Maybe things really are over and he’s just going to ignore me and…_

A thought strikes me like lightning and I break into a sudden sweat. _If we’re not friends, then what reason does he have to keep my code-breaking to himself? Is he going to rat me out to the queen?_ Sudden panic grips me and I fight the urge to run over to him now and beg that he keep it a secret. _That would certainly make a scene._ Although I have no doubt that our severing will be on everyone’s tongues tomorrow. The gossiping of the court seems less amusing and harmless in this moment.

“For now, sleep soundly and we will take further action once we know the extent of the situation,” the queen finishes and raps her sceptre against the ground. “Dismissed.”

I crane my neck, looking for the flash of ginger hair in the crowd, but he must have gotten away in the few seconds since the queen finished the meeting. _Damn it!_ I bound up the stairs, ignoring the frowns I garner from more tired knights that have to duck out of my way.

Skidding into our hallway, I suddenly realize I have no idea what I’ll say to him. _I refuse to beg, but… what do I do? If he wants to tell the queen, I’m not going to be able to say much to stop him at this point! Stubborn bastard._

I’m left standing in his doorway without any arguments to arm myself. Fiyr is just hanging up his sword when he notices me. He turns and I’m rendered silent by the flat lack of recognition in his eyes. His face is blank, polite, neutral.

“Sir Sterrip? What do you need?” he asks, turning to strip off his gloves and lay them on the dresser. He’s looking into my eyes, but… not quite. The usual piercing green gaze of his has dulled and skitters off me like I’m part of the wall, like I’m nothing to focus on.

_That’s what we’re doing, then?_ I swallow, fighting back tears. _Nevermind,_ I try to tell him, but the words get caught in my throat. I just back away and pull his door closed and walk softly to my own in a half-dazed state. Does his face change? I can’t tell. _If he’s going to tell Queen Bluelianna, there’s nothing I can do._ I’m not facing him again like that. _Let him tell her. My life’s over anyway._

I splash some water on my face from the basin set on my dresser and look in my mirror. _Blessed Starlaxi._ Tears well up in my eyes as I stare into the hollow gaze of the man in the mirror. My skin is ashen, the colour leached out and replaced with an almost gray cast. My hair hangs limply on my forehead, smeared in sweat and dirt from the ride to the Gathering and my eyes are dull, bloodshot, and lined with dark, bruise-coloured bags and redness.

I look like I haven’t slept in a week. I look like I’ve been dead for a week. Fighting a cry, I wipe off my forehead with a cloth and turn away from the mirror, trying to banish the image. _Just go to bed. Things will look better in the morning._ My mother’s stern advice seems useless now. What was it she said about mourning? _Light as a feather, quick as a storm._ Don’t let the grieving burrow deep inside you, and don’t let it stretch out to encompass the rest of your life.

But the leaden sorrow of a friendship ended doesn’t feel like it’s going to pass without more days of dark clouds. I pull the covers over my head and let tears streak my cheeks again.

…

When I see Fiyr—or Sir Harte, as I suppose I should be calling him now—heading for the queen’s chambers when he gets back from an early morning patrol, I have a mini-heart attack. My fears are assuaged when his course shifts slightly and he heads for the nursery instead.

I’m sitting on the other side of the dais, watching patrols come and go. I could barely sleep last night, only a couple fitful hours at a time, interspersed with staring at the wall of my room and questioning all my life choices. Instead of coming to any useful conclusions, though, I’m sharpening my sword. Again.

And watching _Sir Harte_ surreptitiously as he goes about his business.

He leaves the nursery again with Clowd and Faern in tow and Samn meets him at the doors to the castle. She’s evidently just come back from the patrol to the Wynnd border with Lady Fyrra and Sir Wynnd and he greets her with a smile. Something burns inside me. It feels suspiciously like jealousy.

Samn heads into the kitchen and Fiyr herds Clowd and Faern into the dining hall. _Oh, look at them, playing family._ It burns hotter. _I’m jealous again, aren’t I?_ I sigh and drive the whetstone against the blade harder. _Just ignore them, Graie._

Faern’s shriek of laughter cuts through the room and the stone skids on the blade. “Shit!” I curse and hold my thumb for inspection. A little nick. I stick it in my mouth and suck the blood off. _Maybe I can go to Yllowei and get out of this stupid room._ Although I think bringing a nicked thumb to Yllowei would result in more laughter than care.

I stand and head into the kitchen, sheathing _Graystripe_ at my side and tucking the whetstone into my pocket for the time being. Lady Faise is standing by the stovetop with a fat pot in front of her.

“What’s lunch?” I ask, rooting through the cupboards for one of our chipped bowls and a spoon.

“Corn chowder,” replies Brindellia, ladling some into my bowl. “The corn’s fresh. The potatoes are… in the chowder because they’re not. Fresh, that is.”

I shrug. “Alright. Thanks.”

“Everything alright, Graie?” My head jerks up and I stare at her, trying to evaluate her motives for the question, but all I see is concern and warmth in her brown eyes. I swallow hard, feeling swelling in my chest. Longing for pale blue crashes over me and I turn my head sharply.

“Yup. I’m fine. See you later.” I hurry out of the kitchen, irritated with myself at how fast she pushed me to the edge of tears. _Well, I’m evidently very stable after last night._ I was hoping that my brain might shut off all feeling for a while. Apparently not.

When I return to the throne room with my chowder cupped in my hands, Fiyr is heading out the doors of the castle with Sir Cawle and Sir Teyl. _Looks like I won’t have to suffer in a corner of the dining hall alone listening to them after all._ I breathe a sigh of relief and head into the dining hall.

Samn, Faern, and Clowd have claimed my usual spot. _Damn it._ I turn toward the other side of the hall when Faern’s voice calls out to me.

“Graie! Come sit!” she orders.

I freeze and turn to stare at her.

“Come on! There’s space.” Her pudgy little face is resolute and I let out a slow breath, glancing at Samn and trying to gauge her reaction.

The ex-boy crosses her arms but her expression stays blank.

“I was just going to eat quickly anyway,” I offer, then get annoyed at myself for even bothering to justify myself when I was explicitly offered. By a little kid, sure, but _still_. I don’t need to make excuses for sitting in the dining hall of _my_ court. Besides, that’s usually my spot! I should be the one inviting _them_ to—I’m overthinking this. I sit down.

Samn’s eyes follow my movements. She hasn’t touched her soup.

Faern seems satisfied that I’ve sat and turns back to Clowd to chatter excitedly to him. He seems slightly more focused on devouring his soup, but nonetheless nods along as she tells him about a song Briatte taught her.

“So.” I break the silence. Samn blinks like an owl.

“So.”

“Did you…” I swallow awkwardly and swirl my spoon through my soup. “Did he tell you what happened?”

“Did who tell me what happened?” Samn replies idly, but she’s still staring at me in a way that makes me suspect she knows exactly what I’m talking about. Why she’s drawing it out like this, I can’t imagine.

“Did… _Fiyr_ ,” I mumble, not wanting to invite contribution from Fiyr’s nephew.

She sighs. “Graie, what’s the problem between you two?”

I leave my spoon in my bowl and press the heels of my hands into my eyes. “I—I can’t really explain. But I want him back.”

“Well, good luck then,” she answers dismissively after a moment of searching my face and seeming to draw the conclusion that I’m not going to elaborate.

It’s not the reply I expected. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

“Help you with what?” she challenges, though she seems to be more interested in her soup than our conversation.

I open and close my mouth, fumbling for the phrasing, before answering, “With Fiyr! You two are—are _close_ , can’t you—”

“Solve your problems for you?” Samn raises an eyebrow. “You’re a big boy, you can talk to him yourself. Have an adult conversation or let the friendship die, no skin off my nose.”

I frown and slurp a mouthful of soup off my spoon. _What? She can’t just—but—she’s the one who’s close to Fiyr!_ “Isn’t he upset?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

I resist the urge to bang my spoon on the table like a child. “Because we’re not talking!”

“Then live in mystery.” She uncrosses her arms with a sigh and fiddles with her sleeve idly. “As I said.”

_No skin off her nose._ “Don’t you want to see him happy?” I plead.

Samn releases her sleeve carefully and levels a pale green stare at me. “Fiyr knows what’s best for himself. And if he doesn’t, he’ll figure it out. I’m not in the business of managing his relationships and I’m not going to start just because everyone knows I’m of the female variety now.”

I frown. “But still—”

“Drop it, Graie.” There’s a warning in her tone. “These are hard times and we’re all under pressure, but if that’s causing a rift between you two, I won’t be acting as a mediator. Solve your own problems.”

“Big brother!” Faern grabs Samn’s arm, nearly causing her to knock over her soup. “Guess what?”

She giggles and the irritation on Samn’s face provoked by my pleas melts into a warmth I haven’t often seen from her, growing up. Although I’m a bit tripped up by the whole ‘brother’ thing from Faern.

“What?” Samn ignores my questioning look.

“Chowder!” she exclaims and dissolves into a fit of giggles.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” Clowd argues. “Shouldn’t you say Clowder?”

“No, no, Chowder!” She lets out another peal of laughter as Samn and I glance between her and her foster brother in utter confusion.

“Because it sounds like my name,” Clowd mutters, frowning down at his soup.

“Chowder!” Faern exclaims again, sounding entirely too happy.

Samn lets out a bemused laugh and I’m briefly thrown for a loop at how her laugh sounds. Despite my persistent problem with Fiyr, I can’t help a smile at how pleased Faern is with herself and how _displeased_ the newly-christened Chowder is.

“How can that be my name if I don’t like it?” Clowd counters. “You _like_ fairies, at least.”

“Not to eat!” Faern giggles.

_I don’t even like cheesecake!_ Fiyr’s exclamation from years ago rings in my ears and I flinch.

“I have to go, have a good day,” I mutter quickly, pushing myself back from the table and grabbing my soup.

Samn’s eyes flick down to the still-full bowl of soup in my hands then back up to my face and she nods, wordless. Clowd and Faern don’t even notice my escape as I rush out of the dining hall. I look down at the chowder and consider bringing it up to my room, but my stomach turns at the idea of eating anything.

_Maybe I’ll go out to one of the villages for lunch._

I dart out of the kitchen before Lady Faise can catch me with tears in my eyes. Again.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE WE GOOO last couple chapters! fighty stufffff dramaaaa enjoy

Chapter 24 - Graie

Spring ripens into summer, which rots in turn into fall, and at last, decays into winter and soon everything is covered under a blanket of snow.

I’m out of the castle more often than not; by now, I’ve perfected my excuses until they’re a fine art. _Sir Harte_ doesn’t much care anymore; after my argument with Samn, I’ve come around to her side. I don’t think he’s even bothered that we’re not friends anymore—he hardly notices when I’m around him, in fact.

But I’m managing.

Until, that is, my affairs take a sharp turn for the worse.

This turn comes one cozy evening when Sila and I are tucked under the covers together in a room at the Drunken Stag. I’m floating in a haze of warmth and joy where I’ve forgotten about almost everything in my life except the here and now when Sila breaks the silence.

“This might be the last time we can meet for a while.” Her voice is soft and in the dim light from the candle on the chipped dresser across the room, I can see that she’s staring up at the ceiling.

“What?” I twist to look at her. “Why?”

“There’s…” she sighs and turns over to face me and lays a hand over mine on division between the two pillows. “There’s a storm on the horizon.”

_Quick as a storm._ I don’t think she means the sort that passes in a day, though. “What do you mean? What storm?”

Her brows draw together and without thinking, I raise my hand to touch her cheek in comfort. It doesn’t seem to help and she rolls back over with another heavy sigh. “I—I trust you.”

I can’t help a laugh. “I’d hope so!”

“I…” Sila takes a deep breath. “I feel like I need to tell you something.”

“Okay…?” Apprehension tugs at me, but I brush it off. _It’s probably nothing._

“My father—the king—he’s planning an attack on Wynnd with Naitienne. King Naitienne, that is.” Her eyes search mine as she lets that drop between us.

I swallow. _Oh no._ “Okay. Okay. Well… when?”

Sila’s brows knit together and she bites her lip. “I don’t know if I should tell you. I don’t want to make you choose between me and your kingdom.”

_I already have._ “Why would you tell me at all?”

“You’d be mad if the attack happened and you found I knew about it,” she answers instantly and I can tell that the possibility has been plaguing her thoughts for a while. “I want to be honest with you.”

The trust that she’s placed in me briefly chases away the anxiety I’m feeling at the revelation and a feather-soft smile passes over my face. “I love you.”

She lets out a weak laugh and presses herself to me again. “I love you too. I don’t want anything to come between us but that means that we’re going to be put in these positions. Probably more in the future. I don’t know what to do, but we probably need some kind of—uh, protocol.”

I brush a silvery strand of hair off her face absentmindedly and blink at her. “You’re right. I… I think I shouldn’t say anything.”

Worry creases her face. “Really? What about Wynnd?”

Picking my words carefully, I tell her, “But if I tell the queen, she’ll want to know how I know. And I don’t know how to explain that away. Besides, no trail right?” It was our agreement—if we treated our relationship like it didn’t exist in the same world as our kingdom, it wouldn’t be subject to our kingdoms’ laws. That meant that nothing between us could interfere with our ‘other’ lives. “So I shouldn’t use anything you’ve told me to my kingdom’s advantage.”

Sila’s eyes close and I know she’s deep in thought. When those blue eyes return to mine, she’s got a half-smile that I’m not even close to immune to yet. “Alright. No interfering.”

But as confident as she seems to think I am, doubt prickles on my back. _We already agreed on this… but this isn’t something like when Rivier’s main ships are leaving the Summer Island. This could be war._ And the very act of saying nothing might be betrayal to Thundria.

_Though it’s not like I’m a stranger to betraying my kingdom._ The thought has no bite behind it when I’m staring into Sila’s eyes knowing that I’m allowed to reach toward her and hold her, that we’re from different worlds and would be punished severely if we were caught but she’s still mine and I’m still hers.

“What’s wrong, Graie?” she asks softly, leaning forward and dropping her head on my chest like a puppy.

I let out a little laugh but she’s insistent and snuggles into me until her ear is right over my heart, waiting for me to speak from it, I guess. _I don’t want to concern her more about the battle thing…_ “It’s Fiyr again.”

“When isn’t it?” she mumbles.

“I think it’s really over. I know I keep saying that but I talked to his…” I pause, fumbling for the right term for what Samn is to him and coming up empty. “To another knight. She’s very… er, _close_ to him.”

“Mhmm.” Sila’s chuckle resonates in my chest and I feel warm again.

“Exactly. I wanted her to talk to him on my behalf but she went on about how it’s not her problem and when I asked her if she wanted to see him happy, she said he seemed happy enough without me.” Unbidden, my voice softens at the last part. I sound like I’m trying not to cry, and maybe I am.

“Well, what’s the problem then? He’s happy and you won’t have to fight with him anymore,” Sila replies.

“But he’s…” It’s hard to put into words without sounding like a toddler. “He’s gone. I want him back.”

“Surely you have other friends?” She pulls away and gives me a concerned look.

I bite my lip and after a moment, shake my head. “I only have you now.”

Far from being flattered, alarm crosses her face. “Don’t say that! What about… well, if you’re on good enough terms to talk to Carrot’s whatever-she-is, can’t you be friends with her?”

_Befriend Samn?_ I suppose she’s changed enough from when we were kids. She’s definitely less of a snotty, aloof, know-it-all guy. She’s not a guy at all, in fact.

“Maybe,” I agree grudgingly.

“And you have Brakken, right?” she pursues.

I wince. “I know, but I can’t really be friends with a _fifteen-year-old_. Not in the same way, at least.”

“That’s true,” she allows. “But there are more kinds of relationships than the friendship of equals. What about your mother? Or the elders? They’d appreciate some company, I’m sure, and age brings wisdom, or so I’m told.”

“You seem awfully wise.” I elbow her and she squirms away with a laugh.

“Yeah, Riviens are just naturally very clever, I can’t help it. Thundrians need to grow out of their headstrong idiocy,” she teases.

“Very funny.”

“It’s not funny, it’s Rivien wisdom.”

“I take it all back.”

She giggles and my worries melt away again.

“Well, if this is our last time together before everything goes south with Wynnd and Rivier, we’d better make it count,” I inform her.

“Oh? What’d you have in mind?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure I could think of _something_.”

…

The storm hits in the middle of the night.

I’m awoken by Sir Strommer battering the door of my room down and I flail out of bed in the dark.

“Suit up!” His voice echoes like he’s shouting down the hallway. “Prepare for battle, we’re riding out in fifteen minutes!”

I’m thankful for the adrenaline that lights my blood on fire at his words. The dizzying, hand-shaking feeling of it is far better than being half-asleep in a battle. But it’s not until I’ve got my tunic and over-armour on that I realize what’s really going on. _We’re_ riding out _for battle. Then it’s not here. Then it’s an attack somewhere else._

It _could_ be an attack by some sort of beast on one of our villages, but I’m not so tired that I could forget what Sila told me. _The storm hits._ But I’m going to need every shred of sanity to fight—there’s no time to worry over how I never told the queen. It is what I promised Sila I’d do, but now that it’s not just a faint, far-off future and it’s instead ‘Sir Strommer is going to bust through my door and drag me out to do battle with them’, I’m having second thoughts about my choice.

All the same, I get dressed and run out the door and down the stairs to join most of the rest of the court in the throne room. Samn looks like she wasn’t in bed two minutes ago, with perfectly tied hair and an alertness in her eye that makes me suspect she wasn’t sleeping at all, and Brakken is looking more alive than I’ve seen him in… in years, I suppose.

_Great, it’s so great that a battle is bringing us closer together,_ I think, wincing. _Nothing unites us so quickly as a common enemy._

The queen looks harried, at least. Whatever excitement is humming in the air, she’s blind to it; while she’s already in uniform and armour and her hand is white-knuckled on the pommel of _Winter’s Wrath_ , she’s evidently hardly ecstatic to send us off to fight based on the deep lines in her forehead around the ethereal star.

But it’s not the queen’s lack of enthusiasm for bloodshed that makes my gaze catch on the dais and stay there; it’s the unfamiliar man standing next to her. After a moment, I recognize him, though his shaggy brown hair has grown out considerably and the sober set of his features is a far-cry from the laid back Wynnder with the easy laugh that escorted Sir Harte and me to the border years ago.

“Sir Newskar?” I don’t say it very loud, but your own name is always easier to hear than anything else and sure enough, those dark brown eyes flick through the crowd in search of the source before landing on me. Confusion melts into recognition on his face and he gives me a weak smile but makes no move toward me. I nod to him and he returns it. _Not really the time for a cheery reunion. He must have come to warn us._ His family and friends are in danger. _Could I have done something?_

“Thundria!” the queen calls for our attention and I note that her sceptre isn’t in her hand. I suppose she doesn’t want to go to the trouble of getting it out when we’re all going to leave in a moment anyway. I can’t help holding my breath as she begins again, even though I’m certain I know what she’s going to say. “I will be brief. King Naitienne Star and King Crukkedaro Star, along with their kingdoms, have attacked Wynnd. The latter court has sent this knight to request aid and we will join them in the fight for Wynnd’s territory.”

Despite half of us just having woken up, I hear murmurs of dissent. Sir Cawle, though I’m certain he’s already spoken with the queen, hears it and pipes up as well. “Why are we fighting on behalf of another kingdom?”

The look the queen shoots him dispels any doubts I have that she’s already shot down his argument in private. _He’s only bringing it up again because this time he might have the support of some of the court behind him,_ I guess. _Slime ball._

“Because they’ll be coming for us next,” Lady Fyrra answers him before the queen reprimands him beyond the icy look he’s already received. Another flurry of whispers follow the statement, but the whole room goes abruptly silent when she adds, “We stand with them now or we fall alone later.”

I’ve never known her to be eloquent, but it sums up the feeling of everyone who disagrees with Sir Cawle, I think. If Shodawa and Rivier have grown brazen enough to attack Wynnd, why would they stop there? I have no doubt that Thundria is next if we don’t quash whatever strange compulsion is leading the other two kingdoms to try the same bullshit as a literal child murderer. _Who is currently residing in our healer’s wing,_ I remind myself with an uncomfortable twinge. Another secret I’m keeping; Sila doesn’t know.

“Well said, Lady Fyrra,” the queen says softly, a warning implicit in her words. Owen Newskar’s shoulders slacken with relief. “We will send out two patrols to flank the Wynnder castle and attack Shodawa and Rivier. The captain of the guard will lead the first and Sir Strommer the second.”

It’s hard not to notice how she avoids addressing Sir Cawle directly. _More than one storm on the horizon, it seems like,_ I observe silently.

“The former will lead Sir Styrp, Lady Fyrra, Sir Teyl, Sir Peyelt, Sir Harte, and Sewif, and will be accompanied by Sir Owen Newskar to bring them to the castle.” The queen is still avoiding saying ‘Sir Cawle’ directly. It’s more petty than I expected from her, but I guess we’re all under stress. “Sir Strommer will lead all the other knights of the court along with Brakken. Everyone, head to the stables and be ready to ride on my signal.”

In absence of a sceptre to slam against the ground with the characteristic finality that the queen was so accustomed to, the armoured woman stepped down from the dais. We pull apart to allow her to pass through the doors first. Before she exits the castle, she pulls Frostialla Fuor aside and murmurs something to her.

Sir Cawle, still scowling, turns to the court and looks around for his patrol. I head for Sir Strommer’s white hair that protrudes from over the heads of the rest of the court and stand by him silently. Brakken pins himself to my side immediately and I lay a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. He looks up at me and I don’t know whether I’m relieved or not to see that he’s looking more excited than scared.

Tigre’s patrol is leaving as the last members of ours filter over. Owen Newskar is heading up that patrol, much to the captain of the guard’s evident chagrin, but Sir Cawle can’t object without looking unreasonable; apart from Fiyr and I, he’s the only one who knows the path to Wynnd’s castle. I remember our quest and wince.

“We will allow them to take the lead and follow their trace,” Whit Strommer announces without preamble. “We’ll follow the captain’s patrol to the castle and once we’re in sight of it, we’ll take the opposite flank. Prepare for battle, but remember, we’ll need the element of surprise on our side so be mindful of our sound when we near the castle.”

He catches each of our gazes in turn and I share a nod with him as his hazel eyes meet mine. I let out an imperceptible breath when no trace of suspicion flickers in his gaze. Without another word, he leads us out of the castle and I brace myself for the cold night air.

The moon is high in the sky. It’s a bit past midnight if I had to guess. It’s oddly serene; the wind is usually howling this high up but the night is silent. Peaceful. It belies the mood hanging over our patrol—most of us are excited, anticipating the battle. I’m dreading it.

_The combined courts of Rivier and Shodawa will give me plenty of targets besides the woman I love. I won’t even be forced to attack someone she might know; I can stick to Shodawes knights and no one will be the wiser. I’m not a traitor._ It rings hollow.

We saddle up and head for the hole in the leaves. I hardly register the tang of life-force on my tongue; my thoughts have sealed away the outside world. Quicksilver and I fall back from the front of the patrol and I take up the back alongside my mother and her horse, Tormenta. It’s eerily silent save for the thunder of the horses’ hooves on the soil as we gallop along a trail that will take us directly to the border.

But it’s only a few minutes into the ride when I’m anxiously checking the life-force and feel something familiar. _What?!_ It’s almost like a god’s trace, but… _Are we being followed?_

I open my mouth to alert Sir Strommer, but Willowamina beats me to it. “Sir Strommer! We’re being followed!” she shouts.

Only his white hair lit by the moonlight, I see him pull the reins and the double file line of knights bunches up into a crowd.

“What?” he shouts back, but now that we’re silent, I can hear the beating of hooves.

“I hear it too,” I chime in. “But it’s not enemies.”

Sure enough, Sir Strommer doesn’t have time to reply before a horse carrying two small figures bursts into the clearing. A small boy with white hair that is just as distinctive in the moonlight sits on a horse before us. A moment later, I see a young girl with a brown braid poke her head out from behind him.

_Clowd and Faern._ I fight off a face-palm.

“What…” Sir Strommer is completely nonplussed.

Thinking fast, I realize this is the perfect excuse to get Brakken out of the fight. “Brakken, take them back to the castle.”  
“We want to fight!” Faern exclaims, hoisting what I’m fairly sure is a butter knife.

“Yes,” Sir Strommer agrees, pushing through the patrol to come up beside me and face the two children. Faern looks defiant, although Clowd’s matching defiance is rapidly morphing into chagrin as he realizes that this is not going to result in him doing glorious battle with a Shodawes knight twice his size. “Brakken, escort them back. You’d better stand guard with Lady Fuor once you’re done, I don’t want you riding through the forest alone twice.”

Brakken looks disappointed, but I’m feeling nothing but relief as I assure him, “There are more battles. Making sure these two… marauders are safe is more important.”

I’m gratified when he doesn’t argue and just turns. I hear Faern make some muffled argument as he herds them back into the underbrush, though Clowd is remarkably silent. I would’ve pegged him as the one to argue that he can totally fight off both kingdoms with his arms tied.

Sir Strommer watches until they’re absorbed by the shadows of the night and then turns back to us. It’s hard to tell in the darkness, but it looks like he’s stifling a laugh. I see similar amused smirks on the faces of the rest of our patrol.

“Well now that _that’s_ … dealt with,” he begins, his voice rising in pitch a bit as he continues to try to contain his laughter. He swallows hard and finishes, “let’s keep going.”

We take off again toward Wynnd and soon we’re over the border and the trees around us fall away. Galloping across a moor is entirely different from in a forest; in forests, the biggest danger is a branch slicing you open. Moors are free from that issue, but I’d prefer branches because on a moor, you have to fight for every breath. My eyes are streaming in second and I try to suck in a gasp in the blistering wind.

It feels like drowning on land. I’ll take the forest over this any day, thank you. Not to mention the fact that I’m being carried toward a battle between my friends and family and the second person I’ve ever loved. The _first_ person who loved me the same way. The moor is a painful reminder, although the aching memory of losing Ravne is hardly comparable to the immediate danger of watching Sila come to harm and not being able to do anything about it.

_Shit._ I hadn’t even realized; I was so wrapped up in being afraid that I would have to hurt her or someone she knows that I haven’t considered that someone else I know might hurt _her_. My head snaps up and I cast my gaze over the patrol. _Samn, Duss, my mother—_ how will I look them in the eye after if I see them hurting her? Will Sila recognize Samn as ‘Carrot’s whatever-she-is’? Will she recognize my mother?

I could grab Lady Peilte now. Based on my hazy memories of this territory from Fiyr and me traversing it back when we brought Wynnd back, I judge we still have a while before we reach the castle. The rolling plains haven’t morphed into the rockier terrain that would signal our approach of the castle. _But what would I even tell her? Maybe that I’ve seen Sila fight and that she’s really dangerous._ Although I think that would only make my mother more curious and suspicious; _why_ would I be warning her? She can take care of herself.

I can only pray that Sila won’t be on the battle patrol. She’s complained to me enough about how overprotective her father is; would he keep her out of danger by forbidding her attendance in the battle? Maybe, _maybe_ I’m worried for nothing.

It’s not much of a reassurance though, and my fearful thoughts eat up the last few minutes of the ride. The wind finally stops buffeting us as Sir Strommer halts our patrol.

We’re near the edge of a ridge and ground cuts away in a steep hill beneath us, though it’s not far until it levels out and I’m certain Sir Strommer will have the horses leap it when we’re heading into the fray. The castle, the same half-crumbling stone walls set into the cliffside that Fiyr and I sheltered in on our way to save the court of Wynnd, looms before us, starkly shadowed against the starry sky. I can barely make out flashes of light and the glancing silver sheen of a sword catching the moonlight down below, in front of the castle. The fighting must have spilled out onto the territory. I can hear the shouts below. Summoned birds circle overhead, diving, and I don’t need to switch to the fifth dimension to feel the pulse of a dozen or more different life-forces clashing.

The moonlight is almost beautiful, set against a backdrop of dazzling starlight. I hope it’s the thing I remember most from tonight and not how my mother’s sword looks as it swings toward Sila, or the colour of her blood, or—the Starlaxi forbid—the look in her eye if we face each other.

“On my mark,” Sir Strommer whispers, but his voice carries through the darkness. The fire in his hazel eyes is lit by only the stars. He tilts his head back like a wolf howling at the moon and shouts, “For Thundria!”

I dig my heels into Quicksilver in tandem with the rest of the patrol and we all go flying over the ridge and pounding down the hill toward the castle. Sir Strommer, nearly glowing in the moonlight on his white horse against the shadowy swathe of earth in front of him, swerves our course to the left to position us on the east side of the castle. In seconds, we’re upon the fighting clusters.

I don’t even bother trying to make out figures in the darkness, instead slipping immediately into the fifth dimension and letting my life-force lead me. And even though I’m tired and jittery, my life-force hones in immediately on one familiar trace. Salty and sharp like metal and warm like spice. _Fuck._

Her hair gleams like an unsheathed sword in the moonlight. She’s fighting King Tahliorius, because of _course_ she is, but as she spins and he turns, circling her, her eyes catch mine in the darkness.

I realize something in that instant; there was never any danger of us having to fight, because I’d die before I hurt her.

And then I launch myself into the fray, finding a Shodawes trace and crossing swords with it in the darkness.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok last one folks, then we're moving on to book 3

Chapter 25 - Fiyr

“ _For Thundria!_ ”

Sir Cawle’s battle cry seems to rock the earth as it’s taken up by the entire patrol. United by a common enemy, I open my mouth and join in with a yell. It works to wake up the edges of my limbs that had fallen asleep on the ride to the castle.

I unsheathe _Fireheart_ as the rest of the patrol and I pour down the slope and into the battle. In the moonlight, I catch a glimpse of Sir Strommer’s white hair as it disappears into the throng of knights on the other side of the castle.

My sword quickly finds a target in a young man whose trace says _Rivien_. His dark hair and deep-toned skin conceal him mostly in the darkness but I’m fighting with one foot in the Trace anyway so it’s not hard to pinpoint his location despite the half-invisibility. I have an advantage atop Blitz, though I know I’ll need to send her out of the battle soon to avoid losing her forever.

“This isn’t your fight,” I hear him call to me as our swords meet and bounce away with a resounding metallic clang. “Stay out of Rivien business!”

“You made it our fight when you attacked an innocent kingdom!” I shout back and summon all the heat inside me that the winter night hasn’t sucked out already. Flame blossoms in the air with a _fwoosh!_ and my assailant’s face is illuminated. He’s got something of a smirk on his face until he realizes where the fire’s coming from. I send the flame barrelling into his face and though he dodges away, his smirk doesn’t reappear and neither does he.

I decide tracking him down again isn’t worth it and take the opportunity to swing myself off of Blitz and give her a firm strike on the flank to send the horse out of the combat. Just before I can return to the Trace to locate another target, I hear a very _not-human_ growl behind me.

_Oh, shit shit shit_. I don’t even need to slip into the fifth dimension to know what produced _that_. “Leaparra.”

“Lady Fore, to you,” she rumbles, her voice suspiciously similar in tone to the growl of her life-forced-summoned leopard.

I turn and summon a flame in my hand to illuminate my vicinity and see the captain of the Rivien guard rendered nightmarish in the flickering light, with her hand resting on the head of a snarling leopard. _He looks angry._

“Get him, Peaches,” she growls, then whips out _Leopardfur_ and launches herself at me.

My sword’s up in an instant, muscle memory taking over in place of my brain’s reflexes, blocking her strike and sending it glancing off my shoulder. I throw myself to the side as ‘Peaches’ leaps at me. _Come on, couldn’t he have a more dignified name? Will the history books really have to say, ‘Sir Fiyr Harte of Thundria, torn to death by Peaches’? Why couldn’t it be Ripper? Bloodtooth. Murdercat. Anything else?_

Leaparra is swinging for me again and I throw up my sword but her strike is too strong and it’s all I can do to keep my grip on _Fireheart_ as our swords meet with a clash that makes my teeth rattle. But I’ve barely recovered when something collides with my right side, sending me sprawling to the ground. I land hard on my left wrist and cry out. A set of jaws clamps around my right forearm and a chill of fear surges through me when I feel the hot breath of the leopard through my leather armour. It hasn’t made it to skin yet, but I can feel the pressure increasing by the second and a shout of pain escapes me. My arm is about to _snap_ , I can feel the teeth in my skin—

My eyes meet a pair of glittering amber eyes in the moonlight. Implausibly, I instantly know who it is. _Sir Cawle is going to watch me be torn apart by the captain of the Rivien guard and her pet monsters and do absolutely nothing about it._

Time slows to a crawl as I grab Peaches’s face with my free hand and let out a wail as its teeth dig into my skin. I try to jab my fingers into its eyes but the leopard twists its head like a snake. At the rate it’s going, I’m certain that Leaparra is forcing it to drag it out. The growl in its throat certainly makes it sound like it’s desperate to swallow me whole.

_If Sir Cawle’s just going to watch me…_ My yell hitches higher until it’s a piercing scream of agony. The teeth of the beast are like the coldest ice, igniting my blood. _I might as well give him a show._

The trace of my own life-force rises on my tongue and I squeeze my eyes shut, digging deep inside myself for the power lurking there.

The darkness of my eyelids is lit in blood-red light from outside and my eardrums pop as the sound of an explosion rocks the ground beneath me. The jaws around my arm are torn away and I hear an animalistic wail of fear and pain mingling with Leaparra’s human shout, then a _thud_. My body buzzes and I roll over, panting with pain and fumbling with my left hand to assess the damage on my right forearm.

The leather is torn, and my fingers come away smeared in blood, but it doesn’t seem deep. I flex my fingers and there’s barely a twinge in my arm, though I have to guess that’s more from the adrenaline pulsing through me than the severity of the injury. Still, it seems shallow. _Guess I don’t get a badass leopard-bite scar._ But no scar is better than my right arm being out of commission for the rest of the battle.

When I look up, I suck in a breath. The tips of the grass all around me is lit or burning out into cinders that litter the moor. Leaparra and Peaches are gone and there’s a wide ring of empty ground around me; beyond it, the grass isn’t lit on fire and there are knights stumbling to their feet or rolling around to put out fire.

What makes me suck in a breath isn’t that I’ve thrown the leopard that was trying to chew me up ten metres, it’s that this isn’t the first time I’ve… _exploded_ like this, for lack of a better term. And last time it happened, I nearly killed the person I would die for _by accident_.

_I need to get a grip on that._ I’m nervous, but at least I have a moment to catch my breath as the fighting slowly re-invades the circle I cleared out.

I have a few moments before someone attacks me and I get to my feet and brush myself off quickly. _Fireheart_ is lying on the singed grass beside me; I hadn’t even noticed it slipped out of my hand but I’m relieved it didn’t get thrown further.

I’ve barely picked up my sword when a blow to my back sends me reeling forward onto my knees. I let out a grunt of pain and roll before whoever it was can put their sword through my back.

Sure enough, a swing comes down on me and I cross _Fireheart_ in front of my head, grabbing the flat edge of the end and bracing. I absorb the shock of the strike and throw off the enemy’s sword, then vault to my feet using my last memories of my acrobatic training and get into a standard position, ready to swing.

“Oh shit.” She’s the one to say it, but I’m thinking it as well.

Silaverre Strime, daughter of King Crukkedaro Star and beloved of who was my best friend until _she_ destroyed our relationship.

I stare into her eyes, blue but almost silver as they reflect starlight, and feel a hint of disgust. _So this is her. This is the one that Graie is giving up everything for._ I raise my sword, unfazed by recognizing her and after a heartbeat, she does the same.

_Then let’s see if she can fight._ It only takes a thought to ignite my sword in flame and I give her a cold smile. Far from running off like the other knight I fought earlier, she merely returns the joyless smile and points her sword at me with the kind of languid movement that doesn’t even spark a flicker of movement from me. I tense all the same, ready to swing, but she shuts her eyes and I see a sparkle on her hand. _Life-force? What kind?_

Then her sword starts to get longer. That’s when I consider running away. It shoots toward me like a silver arrow and I dodge to one side. Grabbing it with her other hand, she swings the staff-length sword and I duck, then thrust my sword toward her stomach.

“Stop! What are you doing!” My heart drops when I hear the shout and I drop the point of _Fireheart_ to the ground.

Graie runs up to us, eyes wide and panicked. “No! You can’t fight!”

_This has gone too far._ “She’s the enemy! I don’t give a shit if you two are—”

“ _Please_ , Fiyr, don’t!” he begged, throwing _Graystripe_ to the ground and dropping to his knees. I’m stricken. _He can’t do this, not here._ But his eyes are deadly serious. He looks terrified. He looks furious.

“Graie—” the Rivien pleads, stepping forward, her sword having shrunk back to a normal length.

“Sila.” He looks from me to her, the same desperation in his eyes. “I love both of you, you can’t hurt each other.”

Emotion wells up in my throat despite everything. _After so long?_ “Graie…”

He looks to me and shakes his head. “Don’t. Please, just for—for the Starlaxi’s sake, for _my_ sake, leave each other be.”

I look at her. She’s stone-faced, but a crack appears as a tear streaks Graie’s cheek and she softens and reaches out a hand for him. He clasps her palm in his and stands shakily. I can’t help hating her; she acts like he’s hers. _He’s more hers that yours,_ my conscience reminds me. _You both made sure of that._

Though Graie and the Rivien aren’t brazen enough to embrace in the middle of a battle between their kingdoms—thank the Starlaxi—they’re still too close to not be fighting.

“Let’s go,” I growl under my breath to Graie.

He gives Silaverre a last lingering look then turns away from her and doesn’t even spare me a glance before heading back into the fray. _She_ looks at me, of course she does, then turns to find a new target to terrorize with her lengthening sword.

And then I’m alone. I turn to survey the battlefield but my eyes catch on one dark gaze in the shadows.

Darriek Styrp, eyes trained on me with an unreadable look in his eyes, turns away and vanishes back into the battle.

_How much did he see?_

A finger of ice slides down my back at the realization. _Enough to see me and Graie standing with her without attacking. Enough to see Graie taking her hand? Enough to see him on his knees, begging us not to fight?_

I throw myself back into the fight, trying to burn away the look in Darriek’s eyes with battle, but the scales are tipping. Half of Shodawa has fled into the night already, and the other half isn’t far behind.

Leaparra is nowhere near me and when I spot King Crukkedaro, it’s clear his opponent doesn’t need help.

Because Sir Cawle is almost killing him. The two giant men look like wrestling bears in the moonlight. I’m chilled by the sight of them; it’s not a practiced swing-parry-swing-block-dodge-swing. They’re on the grass, the king of Rivier pinned beneath Sir Cawle as the latter wraps his hands around the king’s throat.

_No!_ Rivier might be scum for invading Wynnd like this, but choking someone to death definitely isn’t permitted by the knight’s code.

I run at the pair of them, but before I get there I see a flash in the moonlight. I’ve seen it enough tonight to know a moonlit sword when I see one. Then I see something new; Silaverre driving her sword into Sir Cawle’s side.

He throws himself off of the king in time to only be grazed, but she’s on him again in an instant, more silver than just her sword flashing in the moonlight.

_It’s her life-force_ , I realize in an instant. _Silaverre… silver. I’m an idiot._

“Rivier—” I hear Crukkedaro choke. “Rivier, retreat! Retreat!”

“No!” Sir Cawle roars.

_What?_

He grabs Silaverre and practically throws her aside to rush the king again, but Crukkedaro is faster than he looks and has already taken off across the plain toward a cluster of horses that I can only assume are the horses that Rivier rode in on.

Half of his court has already reached them and when Sir Cawle makes it to them, the king of Rivier has disappeared over the hill. He lets out a growl that chills me. It doesn’t sound human. _Did he not want King Crukkedaro to give up? What_ did _he want?_ But I don’t need to wonder, because I wasn’t close to them when they were wrestling, but I would have seen the glitter in Tigre’s eyes from halfway across the territory. It spoke of murder. And he was angry to be interrupted.

I feel cold. Like the veil has been lifted just a little, like Sir Cawle’s smooth words and dark eyes have lost their power for a moment and I’ve seen the man behind the mask; the man that wanted to force a battle to go on longer so he could feel another man’s life leave his body.

But my attention is drawn away from the memory of the murderous gleam in his eye when King Tahliorius’s raspy voice rings out over the knights of Thundria and Wynnd.

“Knights of Wynnd!” he shouts. Every face in the gloom turns him to him. “You have proved yourselves once again to me and I am proud to call myself your king. You have all fought well against this unjust invasion.”

A ragged cheer goes up. I see Owen Newskar, his hand splayed across his cheek and blood dripping between his knuckles, hold up his other fist triumphantly.

“And knights of Thundria,” the king continues. It’s difficult to make out in the darkness, but I see his eyes on me and they’re warm. “You have come to our aid with bravery and selflessness. I, and my court, am in your debt.”

On an impulse, I drop to my knee. The king smiles thinly, and in an instant the rest of Thundrian is kneeling too. Sir Cawle is not, but I’m far from surprised by that.

“Thank you, thank you.” King Tahliorius sounds embarrassed and he waves his hand. “That’s—that’s unnecessary. Please, return to your kingdom assured that Wynnd will not forget this kindness.”

With few words exchanged between the courts, Thundria heads off to find their horses. I find Blitz grazing peacefully with Quicksilver and I avoid Graie’s gaze as we fix their saddles and mount. But Sir Cawle, instead of giving the signal to ride out again, is heading over to us with a dark look in his eyes.

A sinking feeling in my stomach, I scan the surrounding Thundrian knights until I spot Darriek’s shape. He glances at me and gives me a sickening smile and I have no doubt that whatever he did see, he’s passed it on to Sir Cawle.

“Sir Sterrip,” Sir Cawle rumbles.

Graie flinches. “Yes, sir?”

“I couldn’t help noticing how you let a Rivien knight go without a scratch despite ample opportunity to fight her,” he says softly. This is the Sir Cawle I know; quiet, dangerous, threatening. “Even though she was the enemy. Or am I wrong?”

“You’re not wrong, Sir Cawle,” Graie whispers. His eyes are pinned to the floor in submission and Tigre evidently senses that, because he goes in for the kill.

“And I _also_ happened to notice that you were awfully…” he puts on a show of choosing his words, “ _familiar_ with her.”

Whatever colour was left in Graie’s face drains away and impossibly, a protective fire flares inside me. I nudge Blitz forward and I come up beside Graie.

“Sir Harte—” Sir Cawle begins contemptuously, but I don’t even let him get into it.

“For my part, _I_ couldn’t help noticing how you tried to fucking _murder_ the king of Rivier!” I exclaim, pressing a hand to my chest in mock surprise. “Dear me, I thought it was against the knight’s code! And how you tried to keep the battle going longer just so you could have another shot at killing him!”

Sir Cawle snaps out of his stunned silence. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, have you already forgotten?” I spit, past fury that he’d dare accuse Graie of anything no matter how accurate he might be. “Hands around his throat? Choking the life out of him?”

The surprise drains from his eyes and is replaced with a fire glowing deep in their depths. “You’ll regret this.”

“Leave Graie alone. Stab me in my sleep, poison my food, I don’t give a shit, but leave him out of it,” I hiss, the confrontation at last banishing all my fear as I nudge Blitz closer until I’m close enough to lean over and punch the captain of the guard if I need to. “Do you hear me?!”

The anger, though still burning in his eyes, is replaced by a tight smile on his face. “This isn’t the end of it.”

“For Graie, it is. This is between you and I.” I don’t know where this sudden courage has come from but I won’t complain.

“This isn’t over,” he repeats, but for now, he turns and kicks his horse into a gallop.

It isn’t until he disappears over the crest of the hill that I realize I’m breathing hard.

“You’re sparking,” Graie informs me softly. I glance down at my fists and see the flickers of flame dancing over them and take a deep breath, regulating them.

The sparks vanish and I let out a sigh.

“Thank you for that,” he says quietly. “I don’t have that kind of bravery.”

I don’t answer, just keep breathing heavily.

“I meant what I said, you know.” He breaks our silence again after a moment, still staring down. Finally, his eyes lift and meet mine. “I do love you. You were my best friend for too many years for me to let anything come between us now.”

It’s all I need to let my own floodgates open. “I was wrong. I never should have tried to make you choose between the Rivien and me. You’ll always be my best friend and I trust you to make your own choices. I don’t know what position you’re in, but you know best what’s best for you.”

Graie sniffles and I realize that my own cheeks are wet. He swings himself off of Quicksilver. I dismount Blitz as well and he enfolds me in a hug. It’s like we’re both trying to crush each other in our arms, but he’s warm and solid, not the elusive shadow I’ve let him be for too long.

“I’m sorry I did that to you,” I mumble.

He lets out a laugh through his tears. “It’s my fault as much as yours, but you’re going to need me when Sir Cawle comes to collect your ass.”

“I’d be glad to have you,” I answer.

We hold on to each other for another few minutes before I finally let go of him. His hair’s rumpled and he looks like a little boy again. My arm aches dully, reminding me that the world has been carrying on without us and when I turn around, I see that the rest of Thundria has left without us.

“Alone in Wynnder territory again,” Graie laughs, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand.

“We’re experienced now.” I punch his shoulder lightly. “Though we’re not exactly heading off on a grand adventure together.”

“I’d like to have a grand adventure into my bed.”

We share a laugh and despite the exhaustion and pain and fear, warmth fills me. _He’s back._ Sir Cawle, Shodawa, the rest of the world be damned—right now, I can face anything.

“Come on. Let’s go back.”


End file.
